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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 



A GENTLEMAN OF 
FORTUNE *t* *t* 


By 

H. C. BAILEY 

AUTHOR OF 

“UNDER CASTLE WALLS” 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK MCMVII 


, UiSftARY of CONGRESS 

i ivro Oooies Received 

OCT IB ISO? 

I CoDynjrhf Enfry 

-x// xs/in 

OL.lSS ' Sac,, No. 

tX7 $5S 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1907, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


Published October, 1907 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Raoul’s Intentions i 

II. — The Children of Leyden 22 

III. — Raoul’s Suits 50 

IV. — The Blood Money 80 

V. — Raoul’s Moustachios 103 

VI. — Raoul’s Queen 136 

VII. — Raoul’s Dinner 165 

VIII. — Raoul’s Professor 204 

IX. — Raoul’s First Love 237 

X. — Raoul’s Hosts 265 

XI. — Raoul’s Name 285 


v 




A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER I 

RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 

I N a muniment room in the West Country there is 
one bulky manuscript three hundred years old. 
It is written in a jargon of some four languages 
and there are weird words in it which seem to be 
Flemish slang of the 16th century. It tells of a certain 
Raoul and the author has called it in an effort at 
Latin Historia de Me Ipso . This is the Raoul who 
appears in the Devonshire county records as Raoul 
Bonfortune. He was not a grammarian, but he was, 
if you believe him, something of a man. 

The first thing in his life that Raoul remembered 
was sitting in the gutter. While he sat he felt that 
it was unprecedented and illegal. But his father 
did not care. His father was lying in the gutter 
beside him, still and quiet. When Raoul pulled at 
his father’s hand, the arm moved away from the 
shoulder and a red hole came, very curious to see. 
I 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul had never known that his father was made 
like that. He cuddled that still body, talking to it, 
wondering; and then he was rolled over by a dog. 
It was white with black spots, a long, lean beast, 
but Raoul when he had turned face upward again 
was pleased with it and held out his small hand. 
There was a click of teeth as the brute snapped and 
missed. 

A man, who looked as wide as he was long, came 
swaggering down the alley. Fur cloaks were flung 
over his left shoulder and beneath them his corselet 
glittered dull. Chains of gold and jewels were 
twisted about his left arm carelessly. This man saw 
the dog and the dead and the little child. He said 
something and he kicked. The dog fled yelping 
and Raoul flung himself on the man’s leg and beat it 
and bit it — because he had liked the dog. The man 
gave a great laugh and tossed Raoul up to his shoulder 
among the furs and swaggered on. 

That must have been at the sack of St. Quentin, 
after Coligny had fought at hand-grips with a score, 
and Philip the Spaniard had had all the men of the 
township slain. Raoul’s wide man was Taddeo 
of Brescia, condottiere and complete scoundrel. 
Taddeo’s deeds make a gruesome chapter in the grue- 
some history of the days when Alva was trying to 


2 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


drown the Dutchmen in their own blood. And Raoul 
was his page for sixteen years. 

That is the way Raoul was made. 

In the autumn of 1573, in the days when the 
Dutchmen first made head against Alva’s fury, 
Raoul considered himself a man. Taddeo did not 
agree and Raoul wore an unhealed wound on his 
temple as he rode a horse’s length behind Taddeo 
under the bare poplars. The Spaniards were draw- 
ing back into winter quarters and Taddeo led the 
van- guard. A brace of laden wagons labored osten- 
tatiously across the line of march, and Taddeo who 
despised no booty howled to them to halt. But the 
peasant wagoners urged their teams on. So Taddeo 
cursed and charged down upon them. Only Raoul 
with the slash raw red in his temple saw no need to 
follow. Taddeo’s men and the fleeing wagoners 
came in a heap between two dykes, two dykes that 
suddenly blazed yellow and roared with musketry. 
In a few minutes all was done. Taddeo’s company 
was a tumbled mass on the wet, brown earth. 

“So Messer Taddeo has gone to the devil,” said 
Raoul. “I do not envy the devil.” Raoul shaded 
his eyes and surveyed the situation. Those efficient 
musketeers who had settled Messer Taddeo’s ac- 
count with this world were now giving all their energy 

3 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


to retreat; the main body of the Spaniards was hurry- 
ing up; but Raoul had the time he needed. He rode 
on to plunder the dead. 

They were unsatisfactory. “As mean dead as 
alive,” grunted Raoul, rising with aching back. You 
may see him, a small man of long arm and leg, black 
haired and swarthy. His buff coat and his boots 
were dirty and ragged. He stood over his dead 
master and counted a poor handful of ducats, weighed 
two golden chains and a crucifix, and pouched them 
with a sneer. Then, for the Spaniards were now 
coming close, he removed himself. 

Beyond a clump of willows he found fortune. It 
was a little party of wayfarers, two women and a 
man, muddy and limping. Raoul struck in front 
of them, reined up and laughed. “Halt!” says 
he. “I only want all you have.” 

The man, with a muttered something in Dutch, 
heaved up a bill hook. Raoul still laughing (that 
was a trick of Taddeo’s) leant forward with his pistol 
clear of his horse’s ears. “Are you ready for hell 
my friend?” he asked. 

One of the women embraced Raoul’s right leg. 

“Save us!” she cried, “save us! we have money.” 

“There is the less reason to save you, my fair,” 
said Raoul. 


4 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


“Oh, save us and we will pay!” 

“That is certain in any case, my fair,” said Raoul, 
and looked down at her laughing. She was dressed 
in a peasant girl’s frieze, but she was small of body 
as a peasant should not be and her little hands and 
her brow were milk white. The coil of maidenhood 
lay on her brown hair. 

“ But let us be amiable,” Raoul concluded. “From 
whom do you wish to be saved?” 

“From the Spaniards.” 

“Oho,” says Raoul, “that will cost you dear, my 
dear. ” 

“I will give you all I have,” the girl cried. 

“You spare me the pains of taking it,” said Raoul 
and held out his hand. 

The man and the other woman started forward 
crying “Mistress! Mistress!” but she thrust a silken 
purse into Raoul’s hand. Raoul dandled it and was 
shrugging his shoulders at the weight of it when: 

“I trust you, sir,” she said. 

“ ’Tis foolish in you, my fair,” Raoul laughed. 

“I trust you,” she said again. 

Raoul stood up in his stirrups and surveyed circum- 
stances. The Spaniards were close now and the 
little willow clump could not avail to hide them. 
The only hope was the falling twilight and the mist. 

5 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“Come!” said Raoul and led on towards the shadow 
of the long dyke. 

One wonders what he meant to do and suspects that 
he did not himself know. His very curious “History 
of Myself” protests that what he did was “inevitable, 
even to him.” That is the charitable view. At least 
it was not wholly his fault. 

They had scarce begun to move when the older 
woman protested that she could move no more and 
to show her good faith sat down in the mud. The 
girl hung over her, begged her take heart and toil 
on till dark at least. But she would not. 

“Eh, leave her,” cried Raoul. 

“To them, sir?” the girl turned on him fiercely. 
“To Spaniards?” 

“She is not beautiful. They will only kill her,” 
said Raoul. 

“Never!” 

“On the contrary soon,” laughed Raoul. For 
now they had been seen, now a quartette of horse- 
men was galloping down upon them. “So. This 
game is played,” said Raoul, and made up his mind. 
He shouted a Spanish welcome to the Spaniards. 

“Ah! They — they are Spaniards?” the girl 
gasped, starting up. 

Raoul nodded. 


6 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


“And they will take us?” 

Raoul laughed. 

“Yes, they will take us and then — ” 

“Ah, then — ” said Raoul calmly and shrugged. 

She ran to him and tried to snatch his hand. “ Oh, 
save us, save us!” 

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. 

Then in a very pitiful voice, “But you promised,” 
she cried, “you promised!” 

“No, corbleu ! ” 

She staggered back, caught at the man with the 
bill hook, a square, solid Hollander. “Jan,” she 
sobbed, “Jan, save me, kill me!” 

The fellow groaned out something and plucked 
at his knife. It was raised, it was at her white throat 
and she plucked her dress away to welcome it when 
Raoul smote with his pistol butt on the man’s head 
and the man reeled sideways a pace and fell. “A 
meddlesome person,” said Raoul and caught the 
girl as she staggered and would have fled. And he 
held her, sobbing wildly, struggling; he held her till 
the Spaniards were upon them and snatched her 
away. 

“A good day, gentlemen,” said Raoul. 

“In the name of the devil who are you?” 

“I am Messer Taddeo’s company.” 

7 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


“Then where are the rest of you?” 

“They grill with the devil.” 

The Spaniards looked at each other. “The devil 
has them all?” 

“Yes, poor fellow,” said Raoul sadly. 

There was a grim laugh and: “What is this 
white piece of goods then?” as one of them shook the 
girl. 

Before Raoul could answer, “She is for your 
master,” said a new voice. The Spaniards turned 
in their saddles. It was the older woman, risen now 
from the mud, in aspect well content. And while 
they stared: 

“But certainly,” Raoul chimed in: “I convey 
her to Don Julian. He has a taste.” 

“You!” the girl shrieked (Raoul here records that 
her eyes were grey-blue, like steel). “Ah, you knave, 
you knave.” 

Raoul bowed to her. 

The Spaniards laughed loud, while she struggled, 
crimson and panting in their grip. 

She cried madly for help, she cried to the woman 
and then to God, and the woman answered smoothly. 

“It were best to be quiet, mistress. They say 
Don Julian is gentle.” 

That stirred the Spaniards to mirth again. They 

8 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


wheeled round and the girl, sobbing out her shame, 
was dragged on between two of them. Her woman, 
quite composed, followed behind. And Raoul led 
the way with the air (he says it himself) of a con- 
queror. 

The Spanish tents were rising in the gloom, foul, 
tattered brown canvas, ill pitched. Fires cracked 
and sputtered and smoked. A swearing throng 
beset the food wagons and men fought each other 
for their rations. All was ill-found, ill-ordered and 
the curse of Babel was on the army. Spanish, 
German, Flemish, French, Italian — each company 
had a different tongue and scarce knew three words 
of its neighbor’s. 

A halberdier lounged on his weapon before the 
general’s tent. The little troop dismounted and 
men in their shirts, bare-necked, bare-armed, came 
scrambling up to jeer at the women. Dead weight 
on two men’s arms, the girl was dragged in to Don 
Julian d’ Oquendo, and from without came the 
soldier’s guffaw. Don Julian, fair haired, lean of face, 
sat in gorgeous attire by a pasty and a flask of wine. 

Raoul strode in front: “I have the honor to 
offer to your Excellency — ” and he waved his hand 
to the girl. But he did not look at her. 

Don Julian stared at him with an instant’s contempt. 

9 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Then, “Who are you, knave ?” he said carelessly as 
he rose and walked to the girl. 

“I aspire to be the servant of your Excellency. ,, 

Don Julian took the girl’s chin in his hand and 
tilted her thin face to the light. She tried to shrink 
away, but the two Spaniards thrust her forward. 
She quivered like a branch in the wind. And he 
laughed. 

“I hope that I please your Excellency’s taste,” 
said Raoul. 

Don Julian stepped back and looked at the girl 
through half closed eyes as if she were a picture. 

Then he laughed again. “What is her price?” 
he asked. 

“Less than fifty ducats would insult your Excel- 
lency’s love of beauty.” 

Raoul says that the girl turned and looked at him. 
He saw her eyes and moved back. He was very 
glad of that afterwards. 

“Senor Don Julian — ” it was a Flemish voice. 
The older woman hurried forward. “He is a 
rogue, I ” 

“ Ah, Mother Martha ! ” cried Don Julian. “ What ? 
Is it your lass?” His eyes brightened and he tapped 
the girl’s white cheek. “And so you are Elsa Sonoy, 
my dear.” 

io 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


“If it please you, senor,” cried Mother Martha. 
“And I brought her, not this rogue, and ” 

“Martha! You!” the girl’s voice rang wild in the 
last anguish of broken trust. 

Don Julian’s thin lips drew back from his teeth. 

“Your faithful foster mother, maiden Elsa, who 
values you at five hundred ducats. Madre Dios , 
but it is a little dear.” 

Mother Martha began to protest. The girl was 
worn out with a long journey. She needed rest and 
food. In the morning — in the morning — and Elsa 
at last hung limp on the Spaniards’ arms, fainting. 

Don Julian shrugged his shoulders over her. 

“There is too little blood in her,” said he, then 
turned to the soldiers. “Clear the next tent, you, 
and bear her in. Comfort her, Mother Martha. 
By the Virgin, you should do it well.” 

Two of them lifted the girl and as they turned Don 
Julian thought again of Raoul. “Now, rascal, 
what are you?” 

“A poor gentleman, Excellency, who needs fifty 
ducats.” 

“Ugh, the knave!” Mother Martha turned her 
honest head. “Why, senor, he would have helped 
her to the Dutch.” 

“So,” said Don Julian. “Lash me the ” 


ii 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


But Raoul had drawn back before. Raoul was 
nearest of them all to the outer air and he sprang 
away and flung himself on a horse and flogged it 
through the camp. Scattering camp fires, riding 
down men, he thundered on till he was lost in the 
mist and the blackness. 

Then he checked and listened, hand to his ear. 
There was no following sound, none hunted him. 
He was not worth hunting. Raoul sat still in the 
mist and thought. 

You are not to suppose him fired by the maiden’s 
plight, consumed with chivalric wrath. “I was 
never,” says he, and you fancy him proud of it, 
“I was never a man of indignations.” The girl’s 
aspen bosom, the grey face and the eyes that 
stabbed — perhaps they were with him there in the 
mist, but Raoul was not the man to go to death for 
a stray girl’s shame. One fancies that if Don Julian 
had but given him those fifty ducats Raoul would 
have ridden happily off, a paid scoundrel. At least 
Raoul himself thanks God after his own fashion that 
Don Julian denied him. “Had he paid me, my 
life had never begun. And so my salutes to Don 
Julian — who is where he is — ” says Raoul. Don 
Julian would give nothing; a man owed it to himself 
to take. Raoul sat thinking. 


12 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


“ Always,” says he in that “History of Myself,” 
“always I had an eye and a mind for ground. Once 
seen I knew it forever or by day or by night.” He 
had, in fact, a dog’s sense of place and direction. 
Wrapped in the wet darkness, he saw clear all around 
him, the line of poplars close by, the willow clump a 
gunshot off, the dykes and the sluggish river. He 
knew the oblong camp, the post of the cavalry on 
either horn, the park of the guns and powder in the 
midst of the rearward line. 

At last Raoul gathered up his reins and rode down 
to Taddeo’s dead company. There he dismounted 
and stooping low, reins over his arm, wandered about 
till he found two good muskets. With these flung 
about him, he rode off, the scattered, riderless horses 
of Taddeo’s men neighing at him out of the mist. 
And then something bulky leapt at him, big hands 
gripped his bridle arm, a great weight dragged him 
down: “Butcher, I have you now,” growled a 
hoarse Dutch voice. 

“I was looking for you,” said Raoul placidly, as 
he put his dagger to the man’s throat and let him 
feel the point of it. “Do not make me kill you.” 

The man dropped off him and Raoul reined 
swiftly away. He remembered the bill hook. “If 
you will not be so stupid you shall save her.” 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“You are a liar and a rogue. And the Spaniards 
have taken her.’ , 

“I am what I am. And you shall take her again.” 

“It is now no use,” the Dutchman groaned, “they 
have had her in their camp. . . . Ach, Gotti Why 
did you not let me kill her?” 

“It is always worth while to live, corbleu. Also 
fou can kill her yet. That is her affair. I suppose 
you have not had the sense to catch a horse.” 

“I do not want a horse,” said the Dutchman dully. 

“An ass would be more akin,” muttered Raoul 
and then whistled low. 

The horses knew him, there was a scurry of hoofs 
and soon he had a pair of bridles in his hands. “Suit 
yourself, my friend — and follow.” 

“I do not trust you,” growled the Dutchman. 

“At last you show sense,” said Raoul and went 
off into the dark. The Dutchman lumbered after 
him. 

Raoul fetched a wide compass round the camp 
and, come to rearward, halted and gazed. The damp 
wood fires were dying. Silence was falling upon the 
tents. The men had gorged like beasts and like 
beasts were drowsy. Raoul stooped and behind the 
Dutchman’s width struck a spark and caught it on a 
slow match and blew till the red glow came. Then 
14 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


he hid it and, stealthily moving behind the poplars, 
they two drew nearer. A gunshot off the rearward 
tents Raoul halted and dismounted and put his bridle 
in the Dutchman’s hand and crept on with his mus- 
kets. It was a true mercenaries’ camp. Scarce one 
sentry stood at his post and nearer and nearer came 
Raoul, silent, unseen. The powder wagons loomed 
large before him. Beneath the canvas he could make 
out the curve of the barrels. He flung himself down 
and cuddled a musket stock into his shoulder. One 
bulging barrel came clear in line, he touched the slow 
match and the musket flashed and spoke. And then 
as he caught the other and fired at a venture, a great 
flame belched from the powder wagon, a dull roar 
came and Raoul cast muskets away and ran like a 
hare to his horse and sprang to the saddle, and mut- 
tering “Follow!” went off at speed. 

Roaring, flaming tumult he left behind. Yellow 
fire shot up through the mist, and the tents leapt 
sudden into view. Over them, about them, blazing 
splinters hurled and hissed, maddened horses broke 
from their pickets and charged over tents and men, and 
still the powder shot forth fresh flame and roar and 
the soldiers fled hither and hither, cursing in many 
tongues, helpless. 

But Raoul had galloped round the camp and he 
15 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


sprang down and tethered his horse to a poplar and 
ran in on foot. And the Dutchman went with him 
still. No one heeded them. All men were running 
wildly in that hour. Only Raoul was quite sure of 
his purpose. He held the Dutchman’s arm as he 
ran and “Kill her or save her, there she is,” he mut- 
tered and jerked him round at the tent where Elsa 
lay. Then Raoul himself ran. He sought things 
more profitable than a maiden in peril. 

Raoul peeped into Don Julian’s tent. It was 
empty of men and he sprang in — then through a 
bustling minute feared it was empty of money, too — - 
at last he found saddle bags. They were weighty. 
They jingled. Raoul chuckled and ran with his 
pay. 

And then he came upon fate. The Dutchman had 
found Elsa, had borne her out, but Mother Martha 
clung to him and screamed; and as she screamed a 
pair of Walloon troopers came running and caught 
at Elsa. Raoul had to make the choice of his life 
and no time to make it. . . . He saw that white 

face tortured again. ... He flung his money 
away, his rapier flamed into the fight. 

One man went down with a hiss and a cough, the 
other sprang back yelling for help. Raoul tore 
Elsa from the Dutchman’s arms, cast her over his 
16 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


shoulder and ran. And the Dutchman flung Mother 
Martha at the Walloon and lumbered after him. 

Tents and men stood out black against the yellow 
glare and the light spread over the plain, but beneath 
the long dykes the mist loomed in darker shadow. 
Raoul mounted and made for the blackness of it, 
spurring, ventre & terre . There were scorched frenzied 
horses galloping every way, there was no man in 
time to see which way he had gone and soon he had 
left a mile behind. 

Then he drew rein and, as the speed checked, the 
Dutchman came up alongside. 

“ Mistress,” he gasped, “mistress, is it well?” 

“Oh, now he will want to kill her, I suppose,” 
thought Raoul and moved the little light body till 
he could come at his dagger. 

The girl leant over, her face white in the gloom: 
“Oh, Jan, thank God, thank God, I . . . ” 

“In fact,” says Raoul, pushing his dagger home, 
“in fact God has been something to-night.” 

“And you, sir — ” her arm clasped him closer, 
“you — ” 

“I also,” said Raoul modestly. 

Her brown hair, all disordered, fell rippling fragrant 
over his arm, but still she was crowned with the coif 
of her maidenhood. Her arm was about him, he 
17 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


clasped her close, her breast warm to his, her round 
cheek white upon his shoulder. So they rode on 
through the night. 

The Dutchman rolled in his saddle, dozing, wearied 
out, but still Raoul led on erect and lithe. . . . The 
easy motion lulled the girl to rest in his arms. Her 
head drooped back and showed him the gentle curve 
of her throat; he felt the slow deep surge of her 
bosom. And again and again Raoul looked down at 
her, his pulses tingling . . . she was fair and fit for 
a man’s desire and he held her at his will. . . . 
The darkness wrapped him round. . . . 

“Halt and speak!” a Dutch challenge rang 
sharp. 

The girl started in his arms as Raoul reined up. 
“Vive le gens!” Raoul shouted, the Dutchman’s 
own war cry. 

And the wide Dutchman beside him awoke and 
“Vive le gens!” roared he, too. 

There was a sound of hurrying feet and a quick, 
low parley. Then “Forward, one!” 

“Go you,” said Raoul and the Dutchman went. 

“Is all well, sir?” the girl whispered anxiously. 

Raoul looked down into her eyes. “Yes. By 
chance.” 

“Ah, sir, not by chance, indeed.” 

18 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


“Well — I am certainly very remarkable,” said 
Raoul. 

In front, in the darkness there was much talk and 
a lantern came and was held aloft. At last they cried 
to Raoul and Raoul rode on sedate, stately. The 
man with the lantern took his bridle and led to a 
tent while the guard followed behind. 

Another lantern hung from the tent pole and dis- 
played to Raoul and the maid and the Dutchman a 
little, wiry man in buff coat and breeches. His hair 
was cropped close and his beard, his keen face was 
tanned to the tint of his hair and out of it looked 
two green-grey eyes very bright. 

“Whom,” enquired Raoul, “have I the honor to 
behold?” 

“Colonel Newstead,” said the little man: and at 
once Raoul understood the fate of Taddeo. The 
English free lance had dealt with greater soldiers than 
Messer Taddeo. Raoul bowed to him as to a master 
of craft. The Englishman did not appear very 
grateful. 

His curious eyes were set upon Elsa. “You, lady, 
are Mistress Elsa Sonoy?” he asked, and the girl 
curtsied to him. “Diedrich Sonoy’s daughter is 
honored in my camp and honored,” he bowed, “for 
her own sake.” A blush stole up under her curls. 
19 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Newstead turned away and gave a swift inaudible 
order to the lieutenant of the guard — who saluted 
and departed. “But you should have been safe in 
Leyden, Mistress Elsa?” 

“I was. I was. But they told me — Martha — 
Martha said she had news that Eric was sick — and 
— and — ” she blushed darker. 

Raoul was near saying that he admired Mother 
Martha. To use the girl’s love to sell her to shame 
was a device that impressed him. 

“So — so Martha — ” Elsa stammered. 

“I do hope that she is now joyous with Don Julian,” 
Raoul remarked. 

“And — and I was going — ” 

Buff coat flying loose, hair all awry, a sturdy young 
fellow broke into the tent crying “Elsa!” and she 
turned and swayed and fell into his arms sobbing 
and laughing. Raoul watched. Raoul saw the 
girl he had held to his breast kissed on her mouth and 
her eyes and answering her love’s kisses. 

“ I always meant it,” said Raoul slowly. “ I always 
meant it, mordieu ,” and moving saw that Newstead’s 
curious eyes examined him. 

“I continue the history — ■” said Raoul in a hurry: 
and did so with an artistic scarcity of detail. 

“So,” he concluded, “I attended till dark. I 


20 


RAOUL’S INTENTIONS 


devised a little camisads. Colonel, here are we. 
But we should like some supper. At least,” he 
looked sideways at the lovers. “I ” 

The Dutchman fell asleep over the meat and Raoul 
himself endured only a little — then slept till the sun 
was high. 

It was the next day that Newstead asked him his 
name. “I call myself Raoul. My father was in 
such haste to die that he told me no other.” 

“There is something,” said Newstead, looking 
Raoul in the eye, ‘something I do not offer to every 
man.” He tapped the faded rosette of orange and 
white and blue that he wore on his left breast. “Will 
you take service with me?” 

Raoul waited a while. “With you, sir, before 
any man. But with no man at all. I have taken 
service with the wide world.” 

And Newstead looked at him a long time (says 
Raoul) and nodded at last. Then: “You are what 
will some day be a man,” said he. 

Which somewhat annoyed Raoul. 


21 


CHAPTER II 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 

I HAVE heard your moralist sniff and call Raoul a 
scoundrel. That is no affair of mine, who have 
no commission to moralize. It suffices to me 
that Raoul was a man who, after the fashion of his 
time and power of his place, achieved certain matters 
of note. In his thoughts, in his deeds, you may find 
(was he not unique!) evil and good commingled. He 
is shocking, I suppose, because he tells of both 
frankly and is not ashamed. You read his “ History of 
Myself” and doubt that he would not have cared 
to unsin one sin if he made himself another man 
by its loss. Do not mistake. Raoul did not cheat 
himself. What deeds were base he knew well enough, 
though they were his own. He was content to show 
the whole of his life and be judged. Humility was 
never a virtue of his. 

When the Spanish leaguer was drawn about Leyden 
Raoul was, he assures you, “full grown in body and 
ripe of wit.” An unkind person has called him a 
scoundrel of five feet five. He was consumed with an 


22 


THE CHILDREN OE LEYDEN 


anxiety to sell himself, but he wanted a wonderful 
task as well as a wonderful price. 

Valdez had set up his rest before Leyden, and the 
town was starving in his grip. Its fire signals shone 
through the dark across the flat lands of the Rhine 
mouth and cried aloud for help. William of Orange, 
William the Taciturn, brooding at Delft over the fate 
of his people, saw the red glare night by night; and 
at last, “Liever bedorven dan verloren Land” said he, 
“ Better drown the land than lose it, ” and bade open 
the sluices and break the dykes and call the ocean in 
aid. And the grey waves rose over the land, and 
Boisot brought his wild Zeelanders in two hundred 
row-boats of war to bear Leyden bread across the 
waters. By night and day, by land and wave, the 
Zeelanders fought the Grand Commander’s armies, 
harpooned them like fishes, tore out their hearts and 
ate them. 

It was all mighty noble and desperate. “Better 
drown the land than lose it” — doubtless — but the 
land would not be drowned. Long miles from Leyden 
town Boisot’s war-boats lay stranded, and, between 
them and the shattered walls, the Spaniards lay in 
their lines dry and impregnable. Valdez had the 
town still in his grip, and the starving, perishing bur- 
ghers looked out from Hengist’s Tower and saw that 
23 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


even the sea had played them false, and fell at last 
upon despair. So the matter stood when the apples 
hung rosy in the orchard without the wall. 

On a morning just before the dawn, when nerves 
are tightest strained, the guard at the Eastern Water- 
gate suffered a sore shock. They were all duly at 
their posts, two on high, four on the ground, peering 
out through the dim light to the Spanish pickets, 
when lo, a great gurgle and a sputtering behind them, 
and they turned to see one who had come into Leyden 
under water. They gathered round him and gaped 
speechless while he dripped. Their starved faces were 
like in the greyness to fleshless skulls. 

“ Oh, I belong to this world, ” Raoul gasped. “ But 
do you?” 

“We are the guards,” says a stolid burgher. 

“ You are sure you are not corpses ? ” 

“And we do not jest, fellow.” 

“Dieu merci!” Raoul squeezed the water out of 
his breeches. “Graciously present me now to the 
illustrious burgomaster. ” 

“What have you to do with him?” 

“I will tell him when I see him.” 

They muttered a little, and then two of them took 
him, shedding a small stream of Rhine water, to the 
burgomaster’s house. Raoul was brought into the 
24 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


hall, and stood, he remarks, “on the tiles to 
drain.” 

Soon Adrian van der Werf, tall, gaunt, swarthy, 
stood before him in his bed-gown. “And you, sir?” 
he asked. 

“I, sir? Why, I, sir, am Raoul” — he made a 
magnificent gesture — “Raoul de Tout le Monde.” 

The burgomaster was not impressed. “M. de 
Tout le Monde, your errand?” 

Raoul fished out of his damp bosom a tiny oilskin 
packet, and presented it. 

The burgomaster tore it open: then, “From the 
Prince!” says he, surprised, and looked at Raoul. 

“As your intelligence perceives,” says Raoul airily. 

You will find that letter in the chroniclers. It 
promised all that man might do in aid. It begged 
the town hold out yet. It spoke of hope and courage 
and faith, as William the Taciturn well knew how. 

The burgomaster read, and his hollow eye bright- 
ened. “I thank you, sir, I thank you,” he said 
eagerly. “And now can I serve you?” 

“ Dry me and feed me. ” 

“Why, sir, for the drying, willingly. And for food 
— you shall share all I have.” 

Raoul was brought to the cleanest room he had 
ever seen. In a little while the burgomaster came to 

2 5 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


him again with an armful of dry clothes, stood waiting 
while Raoul disrobed, seemed to desire to say some- 
thing. “Sir — sir — ” he hesitated — “you have come 
through the Spanish lines; you know their strength: 
do you think we may be relieved ?” 

Raoul in his shirt struck an attitude. “Master 
burgomaster,” he cried, “do you, think there is a 
God?” 

“Ay, sir, ay.” The burgomaster bowed his head 
and stood silent a moment. “I thank you,” he said 
then, and went out. 

“Ah,” says Raoul, getting out of his shirt, “but I 
think there is a devil, too.” 

After a while a lean servant brought him a scrap 
of barley bread and a small steaming basin of stew. 
“Oh, you are too generous, friend,” Raoul sneered. 

“Then give me them back, master.” 

“Hum,” says Raoul, and sniffed at the stew and 
probed it. “Now what may this be?” 

“Better not ask,” growled the servant. 

Raoul rubbed his chin and stared. “Hum,” says 
he again. “And what is the vintage of your wine?” 

“All the wine is kept for the women and the sick,” 
said the servant, and left him. 

“For the women who do not like it; for the sick 
who cannot taste it. Bah — and again bah!” says 
26 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


Raoul peevishly and sniffed again at the stew. Then, 
“ Come, Raoul, never be a coward, ” says he, and ate 
it up. Little the better of it, he lay back and gloomily 
stared at his legs, which were overwhelmed in the 
burgomaster’s lengthy breeches. 

A slip of a girl came in upon him, a dark-haired 
child with blue eyes big in a wan face. She stared 
straight at Raoul and said nothing. 

“Well, my queen?” 

“You are the man that has eaten father’s dinner.” 

“By your majesty’s leave — his breakfast.” 

“He does not have any breakfast,” said the 
child. 

Raoul laughed, and she stared at him still. 

“You are just like what I thought,” said she. 

Raoul stood up in his over-long garments and, 
laughing, made her a splendid bow — arising from 
which he beheld through the window men dragging 
themselves up the trees in the market-place. 

“Are the gentlemen bird-nesting?” he inquired. 

“They are picking the leaves to eat them,” said the 
solemn child. 

“I wish them good appetite,” said Raoul. 

“I think you are a pig,” said the child, and twirled 
round, her short skirts flying wide and her long braid 
of hair, and went out. 


3 


27 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Then Raoul, feeling that he could do nothing else in 
those flapping garments, went to sleep. 

A noise in the market-place woke him. The lean 
burghers were crowded together and murmuring, 
shouting. Raoul lounged yawning to the window. 
Between two bare limes in the shadow of the 
church-tower stood the burgomaster, tall and gaunt, 
waving his hat for silence. The tumult died soon, 
and he spoke. Raoul opened the window. The 
deep voice came clear. 

“ ... I tell you I have made an oath to hold 
the city. May God give me strength to keep my 
oath! . . . Your threats do not move me. Here is 
my sword” — it gleamed in the sunlight — “plunge it 
into my breast and portion my flesh among you. 
Take my body to stay your hunger, but hope for no 
surrender while I am alive.” He ended, and a mo- 
ment’s silence changed to a roar of assent. 

“There is certainly not much meat on him,” said 
Raoul, and shut the window. Then he huddled him- 
self together after his manner, and considered circum- 
stances. He had eaten all the dinner there was, and 
was still hungry as a pike. That impressed him 
deeply. 

Endued again in his own clothes, he spent the after- 
noon lounging about the town. He was passed with 
28 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


honor everywhere, the Prince’s trusty messenger. Be- 
hold him swaggering round the wall, a truculent young 
bravo, small and swarthy, with a pair of keen black 
eyes under his broad-brimmed hat, and a vast void in- 
side him. 

There was a strange sunset that night. The west- 
ern sky flamed dark gold with bars of grey clouds 
breaking across the light, and far away the waste of 
waters gleamed like a golden mirror. And the air 
was very still. Only as Raoul stood on the ramparts 
he seemed to feel (it was hardly hearing) some faint, 
dull sound, a sound that never grew louder nor ever 
ceased. Then the sun fell to the horizon, and sky 
and water paled, and the cloud-bank massed heavy 
and dark. Night came. 

They were changing the guards at the gates. The 
sentries climbed down from the walls. And Raoul 
climbed down, too — but he climbed to the outer side. 

Through the darkness he marched nonchalant to 
the Spanish camp. When the sentry challenged him, 
he waved a white kerchief (the burgomaster’s, if you 
care to know), and, professing himself the burgomas- 
ter’s envoy, was brought to the general’s presence in 
Lammen House. 

“What I want, Borgia, is a pentameter.” Those 
were the remarkable words that met him. Don Guz- 


29 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


man de Valdez turned in his chair. “ Oh, you are the 
burgomaster’s messenger. Tell me — tell me now — 
who wrote this hexameter: 

‘ Fistula dulce canit volucrem cum decipit auceps.’ 

That is what your rascals answered me when I offered 
them terms of surrender is it not? Yes! it has style. 
But I will pay them with a pentameter that shall scarify 
them. Tell you them that, master messenger. Now: 

At volucrem captum — at volucrem captum ” Don 

Guzman de Valdez began to compose his pentameter. 

His companion, a bull-necked Italian, glowered at 
Raoul: “What is your errand, fellow ?” 

“First, sir, to announce that I have told you a lie. 
I am not the burgomaster’s messenger, but my own. 
My he, sir, has achieved. I am in the presence of 
Don Guzman de Valdez.” 

Valdez laughed. “I think you will soon be in the 
devil’s, master liar.” 

“I profess, sir, it could not be more entertaining.” 
Valdez laughed loud. “Pray try,” said he, and 
took up a pistol and pointed it at Raoul’s breast. 

“Sir, you should have precedence thither,” said 
Raoul quickly, but he did not flinch. “I have come 
out of Leyden very empty to tell you how you may 
get in.” 


30 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


Valdez tossed his pistol away. “Expound, my 
little liar, expound.” 

“First, sir, I would not be thought anything but a 
great liar. Nevertheless, I now tell truth. Betwixt 
the Cowgate and the Tower of Burgundy the mortar is 
crumbling out of the wall and the wall is weak at the 
base. Turn your demicannons on that and” — he 
kissed his hands to the air — “and good night to 
Leyden. For the which salute I pray only your 
Excellency’s gracious thanks — and a hundred golden 
florins.” 

Raoul concluded with a flourish and looked in 
triumph from one to the other. But Valdez was 
holding his narrow forehead and muttering what 
sounded like more Latin, and Borgia glowered and 
growled : 

“Where is this Cowgate, fellow?” 

“I will point your guns for you, colonel.” Borgia 
grunted and looked at Valdez — who suddenly broke 
out: 

“ I have it ! 

4 Ea lapsa repente ruin am 
Cum sonitu trahit et Danaum super agmina late 
Incidit.* 

From the ^Eneid, the second -Eneid.” He smirked, 
Raoul also smirked. “Aha, you perceive the aptness! 
3 1 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


My little liar, you are a jewel. I am Neoptolemus, 
and Leyden is my Troy.” 

“Precisely, Excellency. But touching certain 
florins ” 

“‘Oh, curst greed of gold!’” quoted the classical 
Valdez, and leant back for a coffer and took a bag 
and tossed it to Raoul. 

Raoul had no prejudices. He had turned traitor: 
he sold man and woman and child to the torture of a 
Spanish storm. Yes, but he filled his pockets and 
filled himself — and he slept the sleep of a little child. 
But that night the wind rose. 

All night the west wind howled over Lammen and 
Leyderdorp, and when they woke the sky gloomed 
grey like dull steel, and the roaring air was wet. West- 
ward the water heaved rough as the open sea and the 
crash of breakers came down wind. Borgia stood on 
the ramparts of Lammen, bull neck and head bare to 
the blast, and swore. For the water was nearer. The 
land was drowning. And Boisot’s dare-devil fleet lay 
close. 

So Borgia came down in a hurry and found Raoul, 
and began the new battery. But the work dragged. 
The ground was sodden and heavy, and it was not 
easy to build the emplacements or to move the guns, 
and the guns had far to come. All day they labored, 
32 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 

and all day the west wind blew and the driven rain 
beat down. 

Raoul was not the man to pull and haul save under 
sore constraint. He gave his orders and watched 
Borgia’s Walloons work. As amusement this palled, 
and in the afternoon he wandered off to the apple or- 
chards that lay close to the town. Darkness came 
early under that iron sky, and Raoul swaggered on 
through the twilight. The gale had brought down a 
host of mellow fruit, and Raoul ate some, and between 
bites sang: 

“ Ma petite Colorabelle, 

Ma petite toute belle — 

Mon petit ceil, baisez moi 
D’une bouche toute pleine 

“Like my own, pardieu ,” says Raoul, with a laugh 
and another bite, and then, “Oh, Madonna /” 

For there under the trees was the wan child of the 
big blue eyes and long braid of black hair, with a boy 
of her own age or less, very like her. 

Raoul came up to them quickly. (“I count this,” 
says he, “among my mistakes.”) “And what do you 
here, my queen?” he asked. 

The girl — her bosom was swollen with apples — 
looked defiance. “What do you?” she snapped. 

“I, my queen, take my ease. But you are like to 
take death.” 


33 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“You are a coward,” said the girl, and the boy, her 
brother, thrust himself between her and Raoul. 

“Go away, go away. You are bad,” he cried, and 
threatened Raoul with small clenched fists. 

“Your majesties,” says Raoul, “would be better 
in bed,” and he pointed through the gathering dark. 

The children, little wan faces reddening, glared 
defiance. 

“You — Frenchman — Raoul!” Borgia came riding 
up. “Heh! What are these?” 

Raoul drew in his breath. Then he saw a chance 
for them. He began a lie, and spoke it in Dutch so 
tjiat the children should know their part and play it. 

“Two small friends from ” 

But the honest little souls would have none of it. 
“We are not your friends!” the girl cried. 

“ from Leyden, who have been telling me 

all ” 

“We have not told you anything! You are a 
coward.” 

“Humph! Who are you?” Borgia leant forward 
to look at her. 

“I am the burgomaster’s daughter, and ” 

“Good fortune!” cried Borgia, and snatched at 
her and caught her up. “ Bring the other babe, you 
Raoul.” And he reined round. 


34 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


Raoul, as he says, had done his possible. He never 
attempted more. He picked up the boy and marched 
off with him, kicking, struggling. And then (Raoul 
always took thought for himself) he began to boast of 
the capture. “ I saw the little whelps come after the 
apples, colonel, and I thought I would catch them. 
One never knows what may be useful. But two pups 
of the burgomaster’s litter! This ” 

The girl leant down from Borgia’s saddle and struck 
him across the eyes. 

Borgia laughed. “ D’ you know, little man, I would 
like to see the babes thrash you,” says he. 

Raoul said nothing. He dropped behind Borgia 
and bit his lips and crushed the boy in his arms till the 
child gasped for breath. Raoul was not admiring 
himself. The sensation was new and unpleasant. 

So the burgomaster’s children came into the Spanish 
camp. 

You are to see a little grim room in Lammen with 
candles flaring and sputtering, Borgia’s bull neck and 
head, Valdez dark and pretty, and two children little 
and thin and wan. Raoul stood behind them by the 
door, his hand clenched on his sword hilt, his face in 
shadow. 

“So you are the burgomaster’s progeny, my inno- 
cents,” says Valdez. “Oh, blessed burgomaster!” 

35 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


He leant back and his eyes narrowed as he watched 
them. And the children bore the cruel stare bravely. 
Only the boy glanced an instant at his sister, and took 
her hand in his — then he faced the Spaniard man to 
man. 

Valdez’s lips moved. “ I have it ! ” he cried. “ My 
desired pentameter l” 

“Oh, bah!” growled Borgia. 

“ At volucres captos leniter igne coquit ! Neat, by 
St. Laurence, neat ! Do you take me, colonel ? ‘ The 
captive birds on a slow fire he grills.’ Bird-catcher 
am I? Well, I have caught my birds, and — eh, my 
pretties, will you grill prettily?” He leant forward 
over the table and chucked the girl’s chin. “ Do you 
hear me, sweeting? I will cook you over a slow fire 
for your longer enjoyment. ” 

And still the little folk (one hopes they did not 
understand) stood hand in hand, quiet, braving him. 

Borgia moved in his chair. “And how does that 
help us to Leyden?” he growled. 

“ Colonel, you have no taste, ” sighed Valdez. “ Nor 
any wit either. I will send to master burgomaster my 
pentameter. I will tell him that unless he gives me 
Leyden he shall see his children grill. Little liar 

here shall take my message and ” 

“ Cceur de Dame ! no!” Raoul thundered. 

36 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


“Eh, what, what?” Valdez leant forward, smiling. 

Raoul recovered himself. “Your Excellency will 
see,” he spoke blankly, “that I value my poor life at a 
little. And for me to go to the burgomaster is to make 
myself sure of a hanging.” 

“ Sooner or later, does it matter ? ” Valdez laughed. 

“I prefer it,” says Raoul, “later.” 

Valdez turned to the Italian; but before he spoke, 
“I will see you burnt first,” growled Borgia, and 
heaved himself up and strode out. And Raoul fol- 
lowed him. 

Raoul tells how the Italian turned upon him on the 
stair and cursed him in many oaths. He remarks 
that Borgia was an unreasonable man. Raoul saw the 
children borne up and locked in the storeroom, where 
for bed and chair was nothing but the empty oaken 
chests. Valdez came out in a while smiling, humming 
the Dutch taunt and his devilish answer: 

“Fistula dulce canit volucrem cum decipit auceps — 

At volucres captos leniter igne coquit.” 

Raoul had the night to consider himself. . . . 
After all, you ask, what were the children to him? 
He had sold all the babes in Leyden to torture. Why 
should he boggle at two ? 

But Raoul did not reason like that. In fact, he did 
not reason at all. “ Dieu merci , ” says he, “ I always 
37 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


knew logic was folly, and I am all out of logic. ” Blue 
eyes sunk in a wan, worn little face and a child’s bosom 
bulging with apples abode with him all night long. 
At least, he complains so. 

And the west wind howled all night, and all night 
the driven rain rattled upon the walls, and nearer and 
nearer came the beat of the waters. 

When dawn broke late and pale it showed them 
little land left. Only the causeways to Zoeterwoude 
and The Hague kept back the foaming waves, and 
Boisot’s fleet lay within gunshot of Lammen. Borgia, 
anxious, cursing, turned falconets upon them and 
drove them out of range, then hurried to counsel with 
Valdez. But Valdez laughed at him and repeated 
his pentameter. 

For the message had gone to the burgomaster: 

Most Illustrious, — 

I have your pretty children. Either you give me the keys 
of Leyden or you see them grill under your walls. 

Nam volucres captos leniter igne coquam. 

Valdez ( auceps ) 

About noontide the wind lulled. About noontide 
came the burgomaster’s answer: 

To Don Guzman de Valdez,— 

How you deal with my children you shall account to God. 
Leyden will never surrender. 

38 


Adrian van der Were. 


THE CHILDREN OP LEYDEN 


Valdez laughed and went off to tell the children 
that their father had written to bid him have them 
cooked. That pleasant jest made, he required a 
party to plant him stakes and build a fire under the 
walls of the town. The burghers howled curses and 
shot at them and killed a few, so Valdez bade bring 
the children. The two little folk were dragged there 
in the rain to be a target for their friends’ muskets. 
There they stood, under guard, looking with wild, 
frightened eyes to the kindly walls and the stakes and 
the faggots. God knows what they thought, what 
they felt. 

The stakes were planted, the chains were fixed. 
But the wind had fallen and was almost dead, and as 
it died came a great rain. The dull heavens opened 
and a flood came. A flood that soaked the faggots 
and set them floating away; a flood of rain that swept 
timber and earth and stone before it like a river in 
spate. The stakes stood in a pond. And so the poor 
little folks, fear-numbed in body, in mind, were borne 
back to Lammen. The heavens would suffer no 
fire that day. On Leyden walls the burghers sang 
a psalm, but Valdez stood out, the rain streaming 
from his helmet, and shouted, “To-morrow, to- 
morrow!” 

That night in the deluge Borgia finished his battery, 

39 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


and he, too, as the wet darkness covered all, went 
back to camp with a growl — “To-morrow.” 

And Raoul? Raoul had heard the burgomaster’s 
answer, and cursed him heartily. Why in the name 
of heaven or hell could the man not yield and save his 
babes’ skin? You would not expect Raoul to under- 
stand. But the man had not yielded. And Raoul 
hovered like a restless dog about Valdez’s heels, and 
watched while the stakes and chains were fixed, and 
watched the little, wan, fear- wrought faces, and gnawed 
his nails. Then came the deluge, and Raoul stood very 
still and rubbed his eyes like a man just waked. 
“Hola, Raoul!” says he to himself, “God is doing 
something. Help Him then.” 

Back he hurried to Lammen. He was first into 
Lammen House. 

With nightfall the wind rose again, but still the rain 
beat pitilessly down. The soldiers huddled together 
in hut and cottage and barn, chilled and steaming, 
heard the rising waves crash on the causeways, and 
cursed Leyden and Valdez and their fate and them- 
selves. 

In an upper room in Lammen House, all in the dark, 
two children knelt together hand in hand, and prayed. 
Behind them silently rose the lid of the largest chest. 
Silently Raoul stepped out and stood on tiptoe, listen- 
40 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


ing. There was no sound save the little thin voices 
murmuring, and the roar of the storm. Raoul drew 
his cloak about him and touched the boy’s shoulder. 

“Hush!” says he in a whisper, as the children 
started up. 

They could but see him dimly in the dark. “ Who 
are you?” the girl whispered. 

“I come from God — your God. I come to save 
you. Hush!” 

Silent, swift, he moved to the window, opened it and 
peered out. Below, all was dark. He was back beside 
the children again, he pressed them together. “Trust 
God, trust me,” he muttered, and he bound the two 
together and lifted them out of the window, and let 
the rope burn his hands as he lowered them to the 
sodden ground. He let fall the rope, he stood in the 
open casement crouching for a spring, flung himself 
through the dark to an apple-tree and caught a bough 
and swung an instant, then dropped to the ground. 
He sprang to them, he sliced the rope with his dagger 
and caught it up, he flung the girl over his shoulder 
and snatched the boy’s hand, and ran through the 
storm. 

In that black night in that driving rain no man could 
see another. Raoul had no fear for sentries, if any 
sentries were braving the storm. He was only mightily 
4i 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


anxious not to run into the Rhine. But his dog’s 
sense of place served him well. Soon the lights at the 
Eastgate shone clear, and he stopped. 

“Good-bye, my queen,” says he, setting her down. 
“ There is your home. Pick no more apples to-night. ” 

“You — ” the child gasped — “why, you ” 

“‘Are the pig,’” said Raoul, and went off into the 
dark. But he checked to listen and laugh as a glad 
cry rose from the gate. He desired infinitely to hear 
also the erudite Valdez gladly cry. 

As he hurried back to Lammen with that benevo- 
lent purpose a lantern surprised him. It was far in 
front, it was moving from the town towards Lammen. 
It came to the camp before Raoul, and some drenched 
sentry saw it and challenged. While the sentry par- 
leyed with it, Raoul came peaceably within the lines 
and was mildly grateful. Then he hid his drenched 
cloak and hat and wiped the mud off his boots and 
sauntered into Lammen House. 

The quarter guard was gathered on the stair, and 
from above came Valdez’s voice: “A woman, you 
say ? Aha, funesta venustas — my fatal beauty, Borgia. 
Bring me the victim.” 

Raoul went up with the guard. They had in their 
midst a woman, wet and bedraggled, a tall woman, 
white-faced, of a very noble bearing. 

42 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


“You are General Valdez?” she said. 

“My infatuate, I am.” 

“I am the wife of Adrian van der Werf.” 

Borgia twisted in his chair and growled an oath of 
amazement. Raoul frowned at her and bit his nails 
again. God was muddling the affair. 

But Valdez leant forward, chin in hand, and the 
smile grew on his lean lips. “And you would like to 
try me in his stead, good wife?” 

She flung out her arm to him. “Sir, sir, I have 
brought you myself, and I pray you spare my children 
— I pray, sir, I pray you.” 

Valdez’s smile broke into a laugh, his nostrils 
swelled, his eyes dilated. “But not at all, my in- 
fatuate. I shall spare neither you nor them,” he 
said, and he rose and signed to the guard. “Away; 
away!” 

Borgia heaved himself up with a laugh. This he 
appreciated. Before him the men went grinning out, 
and Valdez came to the woman. She flung herself 
down before him, and he was raising her. Raoul 
lingered, gnawing his lip. What was to do? God 
had blundered. 

Then louder far than the rain-beat, louder than the 
howl of the wind, came a long echoing roar. Valdez 
stopped still, with his hands on the woman, and Bor- 
4 43 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


gia turned to listen. But Raoul ran out. The camp 
was roused. From cottage and hut heads looked 
out into the dark, men rushed forth and peered this 
way and that and babbled. But Raoul ran straight 
and swift. The long roar grew fainter, and faded 
amid the storm-blast and the crash of the waters. 
Raoul was far past the sentries, out on the causeway 
to Zoeterwoude, with the breakers beating below him, 
the spray stinging his face. He stopped an instant, 
dropped over and drenched himself, then, streaming 
with water, back he ran to the sentry. “Alarm! 
Alarm!” he gasped. “The causeway is down, the 
sea is upon us!” 

That sentry did his duty nobly. The night was 
alive with yells. Out from their shelters the men 
came pouring. Zoeterwoude causeway was down — 
the news ran through them as the tide over a sand- 
bank. They surged disorderly like frightened sheep. 
Then some hero headed out of the lines, and like 
sheep they followed him away through the night 
along the one road left, the causeway to The Hague. 

Valdez and Borgia ran out upon them cursing, and 
learnt the news. They heard it in scraps from breath- 
less men, men who would not be stayed. The tramp 
of their flying army strove with the din of wind and 
wave. “They are fools, they are right,” said Borgia, 
44 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


and struck into the throng howling for officers and 
labored to put some order into flight. But it was a 
flight of black panic. Borgia was swept away. Tram- 
pling their comrades down, thrusting them off the 
causeway into the waves, they fled from their fear 
through that black night of storm. 

“ Sicut aves timidi ” — Valdez sneering began a 
verse, then thought better of it and went back to Lam- 
men House for his guard and his woman. There was 
neither guard nor woman. Valdez shouted, and 
only the storm and tramp of the fleeing answered. 
He shrugged his shoulders and sat down, and in this 
immortal Latin he wrote his farewell to the leaguer 
of Leyden: Vale civitas , vale castelli parvi qui relicti 
estis propter vim aquarum et non propter vim inimic- 
orum * Leaving that behind him for a testimony 
to his learning, the classical general sought his horse 
and fled, too. 

When the tramp of the fugitives was faint and the 
din of the storm held lonely sway, Raoul arose out of 
a ditch and hauled out the burgomaster’s wife. “ Wait 
here,” says he to her upon the edge, and stole off. 
But there was little need for caution. Lammen and 
Leyderdorp were swept bare of men. Soon he had 
brought her all trembling and shivering back to Lam- 
* His grammar, some say, was not quite so bad. 

45 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


men House, and he heaped fresh logs on Valdez’s 
dying fire and struck an attitude before her (’twas 
inveterate in him), and, ‘‘Lady, I have achieved. 
You are safe,” says he; and drank off Valdez’s cup of 
wine. “For I am Raoul de Tout le Monde, Little 
Raoul of All the World”; and he offered her 
wine. 

And the woman, taking it in her trembling hand, 
gasped, “But my children, sir — my children?” 

Raoul tapped his breast. “Again, I. I conveyed 
them to Leyden two hours ago.” 

“ Ah, is it true, is it true ? ” Down fell the wine-cup 
and she caught at Raoul’s hands. 

“As God is in heaven — which begins to seem likely,” 
said Raoul. 

“ ’Tis true, ’tis true indeed ?” Her voice, her eyes, 
were piteous. 

“Lady, yes.” 

She caught Raoul’s hands to her lips and kissed 
them again and again. He liked that. 

After a while she looked up and let him go and fell 
back in her chair. “But it is strange. So strange. 
The Spaniards have gone. And I — why — how is it ? ” 

Raoul made her drink wine. He struck another 
dramatic attitude. “Lady! Conceive Zoeterwoude 
causeway broken: the sea upon them: horrific!” 

46 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


“That — that was the noise? Then we — we, too, 
shall be drowned!” and she started up. 

Raoul sat down. “I saw that it was not broken. 
I said that it was. They ran. I betook me to you 
and a ditch.” 

“I — I do not understand.” 

“You need not understand; but you need much to 
eat and drink.” 

“But — but the noise? What was it?” 

“ God probably knows, ” said Raoul, and went out 
to forage. 

So before a blazing fire Mistress Van der Werf ate, 
for the first time in four months, a plenteous meal. 

Dawn broke grey, and Raoul on the battlements 
looked to Leyden and laughed. The noise was no 
more mysterious. Clear from Burgundy Tower 
to the Cowgate the weak wall had fallen and lay flat. 
From Burgundy Tower to the Cowgate! His wisdom 
was proven. Leyden was open to the foe. An army 
might have marched through the breach. 

But the army lay wearied out with no heart in it at 
The Hague. Valdez’s “To-morrow” had dawned. 

Raoul slapped Valdez’s florins in his breeches, and 
laughed and looked and laughed. He conceived 
himself justified to God and man. Then he turned 
westward. Driven by the great wind, swollen by the 

47 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


rain, the waters lay close below him. Boisot’s boats 
were moving hither and thither sounding. Raoul 
waved his hat to them and shouted. 

It is in all the histories. They will tell you how 
Raoul came wading breast deep through the grey 
water on that dull autumn morn, and told Boisot his 
way was clear : how they found a passage to the Rhine : 
how through the watergates the fleet swept into Ley- 
den, and flung loaves to the starving folk on the river 
banks: how they all went to the great church, and 
gave thanks and wept. 

But there is something of note the histories omit. 
Loaded with thanks and kindly promises, Raoul was 
borne to a grand chamber in the burgomaster’s house. 
He flung himself down, weary but well content — and 
there came a faint knock at the door, and timidly a 
little girl stole in. 

“Well, my queen?” 

“Sir — sir — please, I am so sorry. I was very rude 
to you. I called names, and — you” — the brave 
little lips trembled — “you are very — very brave — 
and you are good ” 

Raoul waved his hand and laughed. “Never care 
for all that, my queen.” 

She waited, fronting him, and the big blue eyes filled 
with tears. “Then — then — you won’t forgive me?” 

4 s 


THE CHILDREN OF LEYDEN 


“Why, with all my heart. ” 

She came nearer and waited again; then came 
quite close to him and laid her hand on his shoulder 
and put up her cheek to be kissed. Raoul clumsily 
lifted her and kissed her, and then she put her arms 
round his neck and kissed him in turn. “I’ll always 
love you — always,” she said. 

She ran happy away. 

Raoul, left alone, drew out the bag of Valdez’s 
money, and let the bright gold run through his fingers. 
Then he made a grimace. 

If you would like to know more of the siege of Ley- 
den, there is a bright little Dutch lyric in six hundred 
and eleven stanzas of eight lines each. 


49 


CHAPTER III 


raoul’s suits 

R AOUL condemned the wine of the “Ewe 
Lamb.” The “Ewe Lamb” would give 
him only Rhenish when he wanted “the 
good blood of Burgundy.” (Raoul talks so much 
of wine that I think he must have been a very tem- 
perate little man.) Observe him, then, resplendent 
in crimson velvet and blue stocking, taking his ease 
in the wainscoted guest-room of the “Ewe Lamb” 
and condemning his liquor. He had probably a leg 
on the table. 

The landlord ushered in with respect two lean 
men dressed in a dull grey frieze. Their faces also 
were grey, their hair lank, their eyes projected. 
They were absurdly alike and joyless. Raoul cocked 
his head on one side. “Judas Iscariot and son,” 
said he. 

One of them signed the landlord out, and the 
two stalked stiffly to Raoul. “Your name is Raoul ?” 
one asked. 

Raoul, head on one side, looked them up and 

50 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


down. “God help your wives,” said he: and began 
to sing to them 

“ Mon petit ceil, baisez-moi 
D’une bouche toute pleine 
D’amours, chassez-moi la peine ” 

“Fellow — fellow — I would have you to know I 
am Alderman Peter van Hessels, fellow. And this 
is my son the Councillor Peter van Hessels.” 

“Peter Minor — kill Peter Major for bringing you 
into the world: Peter Major — kill Peter Minor for 
coming into the world. Thus joy regains her 
sway.” 

“You are drunk, fellow.” 

Raoul shuddered dramatically. “God forbid! If 
I were, I might see four of you. I could not, pardieu , 
survive it.” 

The two looked at each other. “I desire to know, 
fellow, if you are one Raoul, who took letters from 
the Prince of Orange into Leyden.” 

“Peter Major, you behold in me,” Raoul tapped 
his crimson velvet breast, “the Seigneur Raoul de 
Tout le Monde. Seigneur of All the World, because 
I take all the best that is in it.” 

“You are that Raoul who broke through to Leyden 
and ” 

“I am that Raoul — and many other Raouls.” 

5 1 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The two Peters nodded at each other and sat down. 
They leaned over the table mysteriously. “I have 
a matter to propound,” said the alderman, and Raoul 
yawned. “My son the councillor has an affianced 
bride ” 

“Oh, earth and heaven! She can never have seen 
him.” 

“She has not yet seen me in fact,” said the coun- 
cillor. “That is our trouble.” 

“Your good fortune. Peter Minor, marry her in 
a mask.” 

“This maiden,” the alderman continued, “this 
maiden is the daughter of my cousin Oswald Fruytiers, 
who is dead, and the ward of my brother ” 

“ Corbleu , are there more of your family?” 

“ my brother Jan van Hessels, the goldsmith 

in Bergen op Zoom. Bergen, you know, is within 
the Spanish bounds, and my brother writes that 
there is no way to send Catarina safely.” The 
alderman paused. Raoul drank up his wine and put 
the pewter cup down with a bang. The alderman 
became more mysterious. “Look you now, I believe 
that my brother does not wish to send Catarina. 
He has all her father’s money, and he would not 
want to give it up.” 

“He is, faith, your own brother, Peter Major.” 

5 2 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


Raoul turned: “Peter Minor, do you love your 
Catarina?” 

The councillor was puzzled. “But she is my 
affianced bride,” he cried. 

“And you lust for your affianced florins. Peter 
Minor, I think she would give you them to be free 
of you.” 

“The maiden and the dowry were promised. 
I have the bond,” cried the alderman. 

“Do you know what hell is for? It is to burn 
bonds. And bondholders.” 

The alderman grew angry. “Sir — look you, sir, 
this is not a thing to jest with. We are gentlemen 
of importance, look you.” 

“Oh! I acquire information.” 

“Look you, sir, look you,” the alderman’s voice 
rose high, “this is not a jest — it is an affair of 
business.” 

“Oh, fiery love!” sighed Raoul. 

“And I come to you and I ask what do you advise, 
for you ” 

“Advise? I advise, corbleu , that Peter Minor 
content himself with the life of virginity. So shall 
it be best for some woman and the world.” 

The alderman feigned, not very skilfully, tolerant 
good temper. “Pish, pish!” said he. “Now you, 
53 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


sir, as they say, are a man of skill and of daring. 

You have undertaken dangerous deeds and ” 

“And achieved them, mordieu. But I never 
undertook to find a wife for Peter Minor.” 

“My son the councillor dare not go to Bergen 
himself. There are the Spaniards. But you, you 

do not fear the Spaniards ” 

“I fear nothing but God and bad wine.” 

“Well, sir, very well. Now look you, I give you 
commission to go to Bergen and seek out this maiden 
privily and learn of her if my brother be ready to pay 
her dowry. If he will (which I do not think), it is 
very well, and you shall bring her openly. But if 
he will not, look you, you shall take her away unknown 
to him and she must bring with her some of his 
jewels to be her dowry. He is the goldsmith of 
Bergen, and there must be rich goods easy for her 
to take. I have the written bond for her dowry, 
look you. And you shall get her out of the town 
and bring her to me here in Rotterdam.” 

Raoul looked him between the eyes. “You 

alderman!” said Raoul. . . . “And how if the 

maiden will bring herself for love of — of that,” he jerked 
a nod at the councillor, “but will not steal her dowry?” 

“You shall tell her that the dowry is in the bond, 
and she is shamed to be a wife without it.” 

54 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


“Faith, Peter Minor’s wife is shamed at the wed- 
ding. But God for us all! Fifty gold florins now — 
a hundred more if I do your work.” Raoul’s prices 
had risen. 

The two Peters recoiled, and began to higgle. 

“Peter Major, go to your brother and the devil,” 
said Raoul, and waggled his foot at them. 

At last they consented, and Raoul howled for the 
landlord and ink and paper, and informed him that 
the alderman was giving a bond for one hundred 
gold florins. The landlord was much amazed. 

Raoul, left alone, looked at his bond and laughed. 
“If I kept the dowry and left Peter Minor the bride!” 
he suggested to himself. “That would be amusing.” 

So in the springtime the “Eel and Cradle” at 
Bergen op Zoom welcomed a little guest. He an- 
nounced for all men to hear that he was a poor 
Spanish gentleman on his way to join Don Julian 
Romero. Whereat other guests, two lusty French 
merchants and a square-faced Englishman looked 
upon him askance. He treated them with full 
Spanish arrogance. 

“Lie first” (it is a maxim of Raoul’s) — “Lie first. 
There will always be room for the truth. Truth 
first— then no room for the lie when you need it.” 

Raoul fed full and drank, and went out from the 

ss 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


“Eel and Cradle” in the twilight. He learnt (in 
scraps from many insignificant persons) that Master 
Jan van Hessels, goldsmith, was an alderman, that 
he lived at the sign of the “Brazen Serpent,” in the 
Street of St. Anthony, in the new town. Raoul 
arrived in the Street of St. Anthony and reconnoitered 
in the gathering gloom. The street was something 
rural and houses few in it. Jan van Hessels’ “ Brazen 
Serpent” was big, and back from it ran a walled 
garden where the scent of the limes hung fragrant. 

Raoul, hat on one side, nonchalant, swaggered 
along to the garden gate. Five rascals with cudgels 
sprang out upon him. But Raoul, for all his airs, 
was wholly alert. Sideways he sprang, six feet at 
a bound. Out leapt sword and dagger. “What! 
What ! How, knaves ? Is there man-killing toward ? ” 
he thundered in Spanish. “Then, by good Sant’ 
Iago ” He lunged on the invocation. 

The cudgeflers did not await him. “A Spaniard,” 
they muttered, “a Spaniard!” and turning, fled to- 
gether — fled into the “Brazen Serpent” and slammed 
its door behind them. 

Then behold Raoul, most truculent, stalking up 
to that door and battering upon it with the hilt of his 
bare sword. At last (he had battered long and loud) 
a little wicket opened and some one asked his business. 

56 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


“ Business ? That word to a gentleman ? Rascal !” 
Then in Dutch, “Open your door, rogue, and pro- 
duce me the man of the house.” 

The wicket was shut again, and after a while the 
door was opened and a serving-man quavered out a 
question as to Raoul’s name. Raoul took him by 
the ear and jerked him. “Bring forth your knave 
master, knave.” 

The servant shuffled on and brought him to an 
inner room, and hurriedly withdrew. Raoul had no 
need to ask whom he beheld. Master Alderman 
Jan van Hessels, grey-faced, goggle-eyed, was true 
brother of Peter. Raoul, hat cocked over one ear, 
sword twirling in finger and thumb, looked him up 
and down. 

“Well, sir, well?” cried the alderman nervously, 
“what is your errand?” 

“Errand?” Raoul thundered an oath. “Do I 
look a man to run errands?” 

“Then, sir, your wish, sir, your purpose,” the 
alderman stammered hastily — “your ” 

“Mark me now, burgess. I am Juan Perez, a 
poor gentleman of Spain. I take my evening walk, 
and I am set upon by five curst rogues. May the 

devil and ” he checked the imprecation and 

bowed low. Framed in the doorway a girl stood, 

57 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


flushed, bright-eyed : the hair beneath her coif gleamed 
golden. Raoul swung away from her. “By five 
curst rogues, burgess. And they are fled into your 
house. Now, sirrah, how come you to set your 
curs upon a gentleman ? Expound me quickly.” 

The alderman signed the girl out of the room. 
But she came further in, and dropped a curtsey to 
Raoul. 

“Hark ye, sirrah,” Raoul made his sword quiver, 
a ripple of light, under the alderman’s eyes, “this 
poor carcass shall not be vilely entreated while my 
soul is in it. Why are your varlets turned upon me ? ” 

And while the alderman bit his finger, “Indeed, 
sir, the gentleman is in the right to ask,” said the 
girl, and tossed her head. 

The alderman started up. “Catarina! Go away.” 

But Catarina dabbed another curtsey and stayed. 

“By Sant’ Iago!” Raoul thundered: “do you 
palter with me, burgess? I come peaceably by your 
house, and your footboys take cudgels to me, and 
you have no word of excuse?” He rapped out a 
large oath. “Mark me, sirrah! I am no man to 
jest with. I can thrust through a needle’s eye. I can 
snuff a candle with my point. So — sa ha! sa ha!” 
he lunged, stamping his foot, at the two candles. 

Over they went, and out. The room was dark, 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


and out of the darkness Raoul roared on: “What 
is your business with me, burgess ? Had I come here 
by midnight” (his left hand was groping toward 
Catarina), “had I sought to rob you, to force your 
strong-box, had I” (he found Catarina’s hand and 
pressed it) “had I stolen into your garden and lurked 
there — then, faith, your rogues had had some reason.” 

The alderman had found his tinder-box and 
struck light again. Raoul had dropped Catarina’s 
hand, and she was looking at him curiously. 

“ Did you take me, burgess, for a rogue like your- 
self — I, Juan Perez, a gentleman of Spain?” 

“I profess, sir, it was a blunder. It was all a 
blunder. My lads are fools. I protest I humbly 
ask your pardon. I had word of a thief, and ” 

“Thief? That word to me! Now by all good 
saints this surpasses! Thief!” Raoul walked upon 
the alderman sword out, and the alderman ran away 
from him round the table. “Thief! I will show 
you a thrust for that, sirrah.” His sword shot out 
like a striking snake, and one of the alderman’s 
buttons went rattling to the floor. The alderman 
with a yell sprang out of the door; Raoul lunged 
after him again, and he tumbled over himself and fell 
on the stairs. 

“The garden— midnight— love’s envoy comes:” 
5 59 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


it was whispered swift and low in the girl’s ear while 
the alderman picked himself up. Then, aloud, 
“That will teach you, burgess, to respect a gentleman 
who does you the honor to pass your house,” said 
Raoul, and put up his sword. “Lady, I commit 
you to heaven,” he bowed, and as she curtsied before 
him caught the faint sign of her head. Her eyes 
were shining. “Burgess, I commit you — elsewhere.” 
Off he swaggered, and slammed the door. 

The thin, white, May moon was over the town, 
sharp gable and feathery tree silvered in her light, 
and the shadows gloomed blue-black. Raoul lounged 
against the wall of the garden. In the house of the 
“Brazen Serpent” no window showed light. The 
midnight chimes died away. Raoul waited a while, 
went up and over the wall like a cat. A form came 
to him swiftly, rustling. Raoul took her hands and 
kissed them both. “Lady, well met. Keep close,” 
said he, and drew her against him into the gloom 
beneath the limes. “May a man speak to you of 
love?” 

“Indeed, sir, many men have.” 

“Nay, who can wonder?” Raoul sighed. 

“Not I,” said Catarina. 

“And I, lady, am come to plead for one fool more.” 

“’Tis a compliment to me.” 

60 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


Raoul took her hand. “Ah, what is life without 
you?” 

“I have not tried, indeed.” 

“Lady, you are a woman ” 

“Sir, my mother determined it so.” 

“ and what is a woman without love?” 

“Even as a man without wit, sir.” 

“I come from one who loves you as never man 
loved yet — from one who would go through fire and 
water ” 

“But not, it seems, over a wall?” 

“Lady, he would not peril you by his presence. 
The good Peter van Hessels ” 

Catarina started back. “ Peter van Hessels ? You 
come from him?” 

“Behold me Dan Cupid in breeches — hot envoy 
of Peter’s love.” 

“He — he loves me?” 

“With a love wholly amazing.” 

“And what does he ask of me?” 

Raoul snatched her hand and pressed it. “Lady, 
he asks of you — you! That body of grace, those 
sea-dark, sea-bright eyes, that ” 

“Oh, I thank you. I have my own mirror. Sir, 
does Master van Hessels want no more than my- 
self?” 

61 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul coughed. “You — ah — you reduce me to 
say, lady, that he spoke also of a dowry.” 

“I knew!” she cried. “And you, I doubt, were 
to share in it.” 

“ In fact,” said Raoul slowly, “lam hired at a price.” 

“Love’s envoy!” she said, and again, “Love’s 
envoy!” and laughed. Then swiftly, “Oh, indeed 
it grieves me to spoil your bargain! God be with 
you!” And she whirled away. 

But Raoul held her, gripping her wrists. “If 
you had made my bargain you had broken my heart. 
The light in your eyes must glow for a man — and it 
shall. And yet I thank God I have come. I have 
had your hands in mine, I have tasted the breath of 

your hair. I ” he snatched her to his breast 

and kissed her. 

She tore herself away, she stood in the moonlight 
white, fierce-eyed, her bosom storm-tossed. “You 
— you ” she gasped. 

“ I” said Raoul, “am a man.” And went over the 
wall. 

Slowly he walked to his inn. His head was thrown 
back, his eyes studied the dark blue void and its 
spangled stars. “Always,” he tells you, “the heavens 
helped my thought.” You will agree that he had 
need of them. 


62 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


When he came to the “Eel and Cradle” he de- 
manded wine of a sleepy servant, and dropped himself 
down in a leathern elbow-chair, and flung his hat 
and his feet on the table. Then he observed that 
the square-faced Englishman was fronting him. 
Raoul put up his nose and sniffed aloud. But the 
Englishman only stared (Raoul records) like an 
Englishman or a cow. The wine was brought, the 
sleepy drawer was bidden to bed. Raoul and his 
Englishman were left alone. 

The Englishman leant over the table and, in bad 
Spanish, “A word in your ear,” says he. Raoul dis- 
dainfully inclined his head. “ You are no Spaniard.” 

“ Madre Dios , rascal ” 

“You do not swear enough,” said the Englishman 
calmly. Raoul at once produced him several oaths 
more, but he continued, unheeding: “I am glad 
you are not a Spaniard. I do not like Spaniards. 
And I have to ask you to serve me.” 

Raoul gasped. He protests that it is indecent to 
say what you mean. So he gasped, and the English- 
man went placidly on with his broken Spanish. 

“I owe you something already. Those fellows 
who set upon you were looking for me. I would have 
helped you if they had not run so soon. You faced 
them; you are not a coward. I like that. Then 
63 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


you went into the house. I want to know if you will 
go there again. I want you to take a letter from me 
to ” 

Raoul brought his feet down to the floor with a 
bang. “Oh, the devil! Peter the third!” says he. 

“I do not understand.” 

“You were not meant to. Go on.” 

“I want you to take a letter from me to Mistress 
Catarina Fruytiers secretly. No one else must know 
of it.” He hesitated and flushed. “I — you — there 
may be expense ” 

“I promise you there will be,” said Raoul, “Also, 
my Englishman, I carry no letter without knowing 
what is inside of it.” 

The Englishman looked him between the eyes. 
“I ask for your honor.” 

“I sell that, faith, every day.” 

“I ask you for your honor,” said the Englishman 
again. 

“At your service.” Raoul shrugged his shoulders 
lightly. But the Englishman, still gazing full upon 
him, held out his hand. Raoul waited a while before 
he took it. 

“I shall tell her that I love her with all my heart — 
that I shall love her always.” Raoul yawned. “I 

shall pray her be ready to fly with me ” 

64 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


“Bringing, it is understood, her dowry.” 

“God’s wounds!” The English oath roared out. 
“You — you — do you think that I know or care if 
she have a penny?” 

“It seems,” said Raoul, “I shall have to ask your 
pardon.” The Englishman bowed stiffly. “Never- 
theless, my Englishman, if I were you I should bear 
my own love-letters.” 

“If I do I am caught. I am perhaps hanged.” 

Raoul flopped back in his chair. “Oh, Peter,” 
says he with a sneer, “ Peter after all. ... In 
fact, my Englishman, you are not very brave.” 

“It serves neither my lady nor me,” said the 
Englishman simply, “that I should be hanged.” 

“You are vain. . . . Now — you spoke of her 

flying with you. How, my friend, do you fly?” 

“I do not know.” 

“I was sure of it!” 

“I must tell you — I met my lady two years ago 
when I came here a venturer in a bark of Gresham’s. 
Now I am come in my own ship, the Bonny Kate . 
I went to her guardian, that rascal Jan van Hessels, 
to ask her for my wife. He turned me out of his house. 
He told the Spanish commandant here that I was 
a rogue, a spy for the Prince of Orange and Boisot. 
So I am ordered to sail with my ship by sundown 

65 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


to-morrow if I would not be hanged. And I have 
not even seen her. I was stealing there in the twilight 
when those rogues tried to beat you. He has a guard 
of them, I suppose. Well! My ship will drop 
down the river on the afternoon tide. But I shall 
stay. I do not know more than that.” 

“But I do. And you will not look well on a 
gallows. I am sure you would wriggle clumsily. 
My Englishman, be wise and sail away.” 

The square face hardened. “I do not go without 
my lady.” 

Raoul looked at him a while curiously. Then, 
“I suppose,” he said, “I suppose you know that 
you are infinitely unworthy?” 

The Englishman laughed. “I am not a fool.” 
Then the laugh died. “I shall merit her never.” 

Raoul lay back, a queer little smile on his lips. 
“Yes. You would hang badly,” he murmured. 
He sat up with a jerk. “Go aboard your ship in 
the morning. Sail away in the afternoon.” 

“But then — but I — but ” 

“All the buts are my affair.” 

The Englishman stared with uplifted eyebrows. 
“What do you mean? What will you do?” 

“I will tell you when I have done it.” 

The Englishman asked much more and learnt 

66 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


little — is it strange? At last a letter was written, 
and went into Raoul’s breast. A ring with three 
sapphires passed to Raoul’s finger. Then the English- 
man stuttered, and, “As touching the matter of ex- 
pense ” he began. 

Raoul flushed. “Go to the devil,” said he, and 
went out. 

With one stocking off and one stocking on and 
no more, Raoul sat upon the edge of his bed. “Yes. 
That,” says he, “is a man of a kind. Now what 
kind am I?” 

On that he went to sleep. It seems that he arose 
betimes, and did certain small matters of tailoring 
and correspondence. Then he went down to the 
sailors’ taverns on the quay. He wanted some 
worthy soul to occupy the alderman’s attention. 
“For an honest knave take a sailor” (’tis a maxim 
of his). “For your dishonest knave the soldier is 
nonpareil.” He was, you remember, a soldier him- 
self. From the sailors’ taverns he came back to 
breakfast, and in due season to the street of St. 
Anthony and Master Alderman Jan van Hessels. 

Fellows lounging under the eaves regarded him 
nervously and slunk away. The alderman’s guard 
were not minded to mistake him twice. Raoul 
swaggered up to the house door, and rapped with 
67 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


power. When it was opened he stalked in, and in 
the loudest of voices, ‘‘Announce the Senor Don 
Juan Perez,” he cried. “You understand? The 
Senor — Don — Juan — Perez.” It was, in fact, clear 
enough for all the household and half the street to 
understand. The serving lad gaped upon him. 
“The Senor Don Juan Perez!” Raoul thundered, 
and the lad backed, bowing, and hurried off. 

Raoul sauntered through the hall. There was a 
swift rustle of skirts on the stair, and Catarina came 
down upon him, her cheeks aflame. “You? You 
dare?” she said. 

Raoul said nothing. He held out his left hand 
with the fingers wide apart. On one of them gleamed 
the ring of three sapphires. She paled, she started 
back, her hand to her breast. Raoul put his hands 
behind him. “Trust. Follow.” Raoul’s lips framed 
the words, but made scarce a sound. The serving 
lad was coming towards them. 

Again Raoul came to the presence of Master 
Alderman Jan van Hessels. Now he took off his hat, 
and saluted elaborately. Catarina watched in amaze. 

“Pray, sir, what obtains me this honor?” says 
the alderman nervously. 

“Burgess, I shall expound. First, I discover that 
I was something harsh with you last night. I learn 
68 


KAOUL’S SUITS 


that you have good cause to suspect danger (though, 
by Sant’ Iago, to take me for a hired bravo was diabolic 
insolence. But pass — pass). I say you may well 
suspect danger. How do I know it? Mark me 
now! I betake me to the ‘Duke of Alva* tavern. I 
drink a measure of Xeres wine. (Xeres quotha! 
Bah! But pass.) There be two seafaring rogues 
chattering. I catch your name. I incline my ear. 
Have a care, burgess! There is villainy toward. 
They speak of you — of your ward — of your wealth, 
too, burgess. They say that both rightly pertain 
to one Peter van Hessels. Now who a plague is 
Peter van Hessels, burgess?” 

“I know, sir, I know,” cried the alderman. “Go 
on, sir.” 

“But you ” cried Catarina. Raoul waved 

his hand carelessly, and the sapphires flashed. Cata- 
rina gulped and was silent. 

“Go on? Faith, I have done. They said that 
there is one in the town minded to seize ward and 
wealth for this Peter. So have a care, burgess!” 

“I will, sir, I will indeed. I thank you. I am 

most grateful. I Pray you, what like were 

these two fellows?” 

Raoul began an elaborate and pictorial description, 
in the midst of which came a journeyman to say there 
69 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


was a sailor in the shop with a letter which he would 
give to none but the alderman. The alderman, 
rising, begged Raoul to await him. 

“If you are long I must needs depart; but,” said 
Raoul politely, “I will surely come again.” 

The alderman was hardly gone before Raoul 
sprang to Catarina and caught her hands. “Your 
own chamber! Quick!” 

“Sir!” the girl gasped — “you — I ” 

“If you love your love!” The sapphires blazed 
in her sapphire eyes. 

“Yes — yes.” 

Raoul let her go and signed to the door. She 
looked long in his eyes, and turned and led the way. 
Out in the hall, “Lady, I give you good day,” said 
Raoul aloud, and stalked noisily to the door of the 
street. He opened it, he slammed it again and stayed 
inside. Then swift, noiseless, he stole back to her, 
and “Quick!” he whispered, and they fled upstairs 
together. A moment, and they were together in 
her little low room, she pale and panting. Raoul 
swept one glance round, and got into the wardrobe. 
“Lock me in,” he whispered, grinning from among 
her fragrant dresses. “Go down then and tell the 
good man I am gone.’ 

“But— but ” 


70 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


“ There is never a but in love.” 

The door was locked upon him. . . . Raoul 
protests that it was long hours ere there came a rustle 
without and the click of a key — it was opened. 

Raoul came out with a gasp: “Phew! I shall 
never love lavender again;” and he sat down on her 
bed and fanned himself, and smiled at Catarina. 

Catarina was pale still, and her bosom quick, but 

her blue eyes shone. “I pray you ” she began 

in a whisper. Raoul sprang to her. Her hand was 
in his, his arm about her before she knew it. He 
drew the lithe gracious form against him, he bent to 
the blood in her cheek — she turned and the blue 
eyes met his. She did not struggle nor cry. “By 
your honor, by your faith,” she said quickly, softly, 
“have you nothing from him who gave you the 
ring?” 

“He!” Raoul laughed. “Another without the 
wit to win you himself — another proxy lover who ” 

“Who trusted me to you,” said Catarina. 

Raoul let her go. His swarthy face paled, and 
he said something behind his teeth. He plucked the 
letter out of his bosom and gave it her. Catarina 
had not moved at all, and stood still close to his heart. 
In a moment: “Yes. He says I am to trust you 
altogether,” she said, and looked up to him smiling. 

7i 


A GENTLEMAN OE FORTUNE 


Raoul flung away, and the word on his lips was 
an oath. 

“Tell me — tell me everything.” 

Raoul, his back to her, drew a long breath. It 
was a moment before he came to take her hand. 
Then his face was placid. “Lady, last night I told 
you that I came from Peter van Hessels. It is 
remarkable; but I said the truth. I found, lady, 
you were worthy a man. And after, by a chance, I 
found the man of whom you are worthy.” 

Smile and blush came with darkening eyes. “In- 
deed I am not,” she said. 

Raoul laughed. “You and he will agree marvel- 
ously.” She looked in his eyes a moment. “On 
my honor, lady, I mean you faithfully.” She bowed. 
“Last night I gave you a woman’s due. I did not 
know that I took another man’s right. And now — • 
well, one is man after all. But what you cannot 
give I do not care to take. You love him. You 
trust me. That is to be enough.” Her eyes thanked 
him. “Ay, pardieu. He has all of your heart. But 
is the poor man never to have the rest?” 

Her bosom rose, her eyes glowed gloriously . . . 
then she flung her arms wide. “ But I am in prison — * 
I am chained here!” she cried. “Ah, if I were 
free !” 


72 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


Raoul smiled. “Behold the way to freedom,” 
said he, and began to take off his breeches. 

In a moment they lay on the floor, and he stood 
up still in breeches. He dragged his cloak from the 
wardrobe, and behold it was two cloaks and a doublet 
to boot. He brought a hat out of his breast. “And 
I pray heaven they fit,” said he. 

“You mean ” Catarina gasped. 

“I think they explain themselves.” 

Catarina looked down at the clothes and blushed 
at them, and then smiled. “ But even if I did ” 

“Then behold the Senor Don Jaun Perez provided 
with a charming page.” 

“But how — how is the Senor Don Juan Perez 
to come out of my chamber?” 

“ Doubtless, my fair page, your servants eat dinner. 
While they eat, we flee.” 

“Oh — oh, dare we?” 

“Dare we anything else?” 

She turned away from his eyes. “The alderman 
and I — we dine before the servants.” 

“Admirable! You will have a dinner inside you 
to give you heart for this heroical enterprise.” 

Catarina took up the hat and tried it on, and 
put it away. Catarina held up the doublet and 
put it down again. “I am sure they will be much 
73 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


too big,” she murmured. Raoul stared upon the 

wall. . . . 

The clocks began striking noon. “Oh! this is 
our dinner-hour,” Catarina cried. 

Raoul flung his clothes to the wardrobe and went 
in after them. Again the door was locked upon 
him. “And I dine upon lavender,” he groaned. It 
was, he avers, again hours before he was let out. 

“They are all at dinner” (Catarina was breathless); 
“the alderman is gone out.” 

“Oh, amiable old man!” said Raoul, and laid out 
the clothes on the bed in the manner of a valet. 

Catarina drew back. “But he told me again I 
was not to go outside the house. And I am sure — 
I am sure the men in the street are ordered to stop 
me.” 

“In skirts only,” said Raoul, and went back to the 
wardrobe. “Quick! quick! Love waits.” And he 
pulled the door to upon him. 

Sooner than he had thought there was a timid 
“You may come out,” and he came out to see a very 
little person in the corner trying to shroud herself 
in the cloak. “Oh, please do not look. But is it 
— is it ?” gasped Catarina. 

Raoul slouched the hat down over her golden hair, 
took the cloak away, and flung it about her in new 
74 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


fashion. He stepped back two paces to examine 
her. She was all trembling, with scarlet cheeks. 

Raoul swung away, opened the door, listened, 
stole out, listened again, and beckoned. Swift, 
light-footed, they crept downstairs and out. She 
crowded upon him as he opened the door, but Raoul 
swept her aside. He stood still in the sunlight, and 
bowed to some invisible person within. Then he 
cocked his hat. ‘‘Swagger! swagger!” he muttered, 
and let her shut the door. 

Down the street they went, and the men under the 
eaves looked at them curiously. Raoul began to talk 
loud in Spanish. He abused his page with fluency, 
and the page, as was natural, flushed and stared at 
the ground. 

Then out of a house came Alderman Jan van 
Hessels. 

“Look, look!” the page gasped, and started back. 
Raoul’s hand closed like a vice on her arm. 

Then he slid before her, and “Ha, burgess, well 
met!” says he, and he struck an attitude, hand on 
left hip, right leg forward. “ Shall we finish our talk ? ” 

The alderman bustled up. “At your very good 
pleasure, sir. I was hoping to see you speedily, 
sir. Now I am anxious — much anxious ” 

“Walk your anxieties my way.” Raoul whirled 

6 75 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


round upon his page, and struck her across the cheek 
with his glove. “What, rogue! Must you be 
eaves-dropping ? Walk ten good paces behind, or 
your sides shall taste my whip.” So they went on. 
“Never heed him,” says Raoul carelessly. “’Tis 

but a fool. But I ride my lads on the curb. 

And what was in the letter, burgess?” 

“Sir, it was brazen. It was an infamy. It de- 
manded my ward in marriage for my nephew Peter 
van Hessels. And it bade me post my answer on 
the market cross. And it said that if I would not 
give her she would be taken,” the alderman splut- 
tered. “ Consider it, sir.” 

“I do, I do. And from whom came this letter, 
burgess?” 

“It was signed Raoul de Tout le Monde. Raoul 
de Tout le Monde! Bah!” 

“ Bah ! Bah ! ” said Raoul with enthusiasm. “ And 
what will you do, burgess?” 

“Do, sir? I go, sir, to my friend the burgomaster 
and my very good friend the commandant, to pray 
them have search made through the town for this 
fellow, this Raoul de Tout le Monde!” 

“By Sant’ Iago!” cried Raoul, “I hope you may 
find him!” 

“I thank you, sir. I thank you. I am your 
7 6 


RAOUL’S SUITS 


debtor.” They walked on a little more, the aider- 
man expending himself in wrath. “My way lies 
here, sir,” says he at last, at a cross street. 

“And mine there,” said Raoul. “But one word, 
burgess. What ails your nephew, that he must not 
wed the girl ? A nephew of yours, faith, must needs 
be an honest gentleman!” 

The alderman coughed. “You are to know, sir, 
that my ward inherits certain small moneys, and ” 

“And till she is wed you keep them. Oh, you are 
a warm man, a wily soul. No Raoul of any world 
will ever come over you, eh, burgess?” Raoul 
nudged his ribs. 

The alderman looked austere a moment. Then 
he grinned. With two knowing nods they parted. 

Raoul turned down a lane to the quay, and beckoned 
to his page. She came, and he took her arm, but she 
would not look at him. Raoul peeped under the 
slouched hat. 

“Tears? Mordieu , remember you are a man!” 

“I — I — oh, forgive me! I thought — I thought 
you were going to give me up — and indeed I never 
felt so much a woman.” 

“ There is one who will not complain,” said Raoul. 
To which she had nothing at all to say. 

At the first stairs they took boat and rowed out to 

77 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


the Bonny Kate. Curious faces looked over the 
bulwarks: a ropeladder was thrown to them. “Oh, 
but I never can,” cried Catarina, and nearly fell into 
the sea. 

Raoul flung her over his shoulder and climbed up. 
Over the bulwarks he came full upon his Englishman, 
who recoiled, staring at the page, and cried : “ Why, 

who is this, sir?” 

“ A man of no account. Go to your own shoulders,” 
says Raoul, and put Catarina into his arms. 

The man gave a wordless cry, and she. Then she 
was crushed to his breast, and his kiss bore back her 
head. Down fell the hat, and her golden hair, her 
maiden coif, showed clear to the sunshine. 

A moment only he held her on his heart. Then 
he sprang to the mizzen rigging. “Hands to the 
capstan! With a will now, lads, with a will!” The 
ship throbbed with life. 

“Heave oh! Heave oh! Round and around ! . . . 
Heave short! Break her out!” The sailors’ cries 
roared about them. “Anchor’s apeak! Inboard 
haul! Ready jib!” They were slipping out to sea 
on full ebb. 

Bergen shore was dull on the horizon when they 
passed the word for the parson. Raoul admired 
then the foresight of his Englishman. 

78 


BAOUL’S SUITS 


So they hove-to, and were married. Raoul, as 
was wholly fitting, gave her away. And when she 
was Mistress Arthur Stukely (of Yealm in Devonshire) 
she turned to Raoul, and smiling and blushing said, 
“Sir — the woman’s due is your right.” And Raoul 
bowed and kissed her a last time. . . . 

From the quay of Rotterdam he watched a white 
sail, and sighed. “A pis oiler , poor lass,” said he. 


79 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BLOOD MONEY 

I T was the spring of the year, and the limes were 
budding pale in Delft. The little windows of 
“The Red Heart’s” guest-chamber were flung 
wide, and within a peat fire glowed fragrant. That 
was for Raoul. “I never could breathe your stale air,” 
says he, “but I never would freeze without cause.” 
There he sat with his chine of beef and his “good, 
lustful Burgundy,” well content with fate. Raoul 
had prospered. Van Meteren, the goldsmith of 
Amsterdam, had a thousand golden florins of his in 
trust; there were a thousand more with the Fuggers, 
and more yet in other hands. It was no ill estate for 
a man to have made himself in a decade. 

But Raoul had been constructed to prosper in this 
world. He came to manhood with many abilities 
and no illusions. As a man he grudged himself 
nothing, but he wasted nothing. Always he thought 
of his profit first — sometimes last as well. 

While he sat with his wine and his beef “The Red 
Heart’s” landlord, Blue-nosed Peter, was reading to 
80 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


him. Peter thought well of his reading, and adorned 
it with quavers and thrills and hoarse notes of horror. 
He was, says Raoul, fiddle and big drum both, and a 
keen relish to meat. Peter boomed on : 

“We declare him traitor and recreant, enemy of ourselves 
and of our country. . . . We expose the said William 

of Nassau as an enemy of the human race — giving his prop- 
erty to all who may seize it. And if any one of our subjects, 
or any stranger, should be found sufficiently generous of heart 
to rid us of this pest, delivering him to us alive or dead, or 
taking his life, we will cause to be furnished to him immediately 
after the deed shall have been done the sum of twenty -five 
thousand FLORINS in gold. If he have committed any crime, 
however heinous, we promise to pardon him : and if he be not 
already noble we will ennoble him for his valor. 

Given under our hand, 
Philip R., 

Count of Holland and Hainault 

Peter ceased, glared dramatically at Raoul, and 
crushed the paper together in his hands. Then, 
“Damnable, sir!” says he. “Thrice and four times 

damnable! A man’s blood boils ” here his wife 

called him, and he ran. 

Raoul lay back in his chair and savored his wine. 
“Damnable,” he repeated — “but very interesting.” 

So King Philip of Spain bid for a murder — you 
will find him almost adequately abused in the histories 
—and Raoul considered of it. And next morning, in 
81 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


the twilight before the dawn, Raoul rode out of Delft, 
and eastward. 

The Spanish army lay in the villages about Tilburg, 
and with it was its general, the Prince of Parma, a 
gentleman of high skill in negotiating murders and 
other matters. As the sun was falling behind bars of 
gold, Raoul rode up to the low red roof of Lillo village. 
There was not much of Lillo — a church, a tavern, 
and a dozen of houses; but a pennon floating above 
the largest of them proclaimed the lodging of the 
Prince of Parma. As Raoul came to the tavern two 
men went into the church. 

Raoul fed his horse and himself, and lounged at 
the tavern door in the twilight. Two men came out 
of the church. They took little demure steps; their 
eyes were downcast. “ Here be two who should have 
been women,” Raoul muttered. One was short, 
yellow-faced, with hair like hay on his chin and lip. 
The other might have been tall had he stood straight, 
but his back bent and his shoulders were rounded; 
his feeble chin appeared through a thin, long, brown 
beard. Both of them were peculiarly lean. They 
passed by Raoul's curious eyes and entered the tavern. 

Raoul was interested. It was his business to be in- 
terested in things out of the common, and men who 
spent two hours in church were most uncommon. 

82 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


He turned into the tavern after them. They were 
making a frugal meal of eggs and vegetables and 
small beer. 

“Mary Mother, St. Peter and St. Mary Magdalen 
be with you, ” said Raoul devoutly. 

The two bowed and crossed themselves at the 
Virgin’s name. “And with you, sir — with you,” they 
said with unction. 

Raoul composed his face to display solemn sorrow, 
and sat down. He sighed deeply. “ Pray, sir, could 
you tell me who is the saint of yon little church?” 
he asked. 

“St. Denis, sir.” 

“Ah, good St. Denis! He has been much my 
friend.” Raoul muttered what was presumed to be 
a prayer. 

The two — they were singularly insignificant men — 
looked at him with favor. A glance passed between 
them, and Raoul was asked to share their meal. 

Raoul had supped, but he had always room for 
more. In a moment he was devouring barley bread 
and coleworts, and stating that he loved to lodge by a 
church. The sound of the angelus, you must know, 
brought peace to his soul. 

The smaller man agreed that it was ill, and very ill, 
to be far off from holy rites. 

83 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“Alack, sir, ’tis too true!” sighed Raoul. 

The larger, the bearded man, looked at Raoul and 
at his beer, and fidgeted. He was plainly yearning to 
make a speech. Raoul assumed an air of anxious ex- 
pectation. The man blushed behind his thin beard, 
and began in a shrill voice nervously: “I think, sir — 
when you speak of the joy of being near the church — 
I think of those who have cast down the church, who 
have cut themselves off from her gentle rites. Sir, in 
all Holland and Zeeland no angelus rings to-night. 
Sir, I yearn ” 

“Infidels! Heretics!” cried Raoul. “Let them 
die and be damned.” 

“Nay, sir, nay,” they both called out together. 

“Rather let us seek ” 

“ to compel them back to the Church ” 

“ if by any means we may save some.” 

Raoul shook his head. His was a secular little 
soul. He never understood why men should kill in 
the name of a religion or die for it. But he shook his 
head, and he looked fanatically gloomy, and, “ Stamp 
them out. They are heretics and accursed, ” said he. 
“ But they may be brought back to the faith. ” 

“Not while” — Raoul stopped and spat — “the 
devil William of Nassau lives.” 

There was silence. Raoul had flung himself back 

84 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


in his chair, his chin on his chest, his eyes almost shut. 
But he saw the two look at each other. “William 
of Nassau will die some day,” said the bearded 
man. 

Raoul shook his head. “The devil his master 
has given him a charm against wounds.” 

The bearded man changed color and started; then 
looked at his fellow. But he gave a short laugh. 
“Oh, God can kill him,” said he. 

Raoul allowed his eyes to open. Raoul stared full. 
“Ay: but when?” 

Again there was silence. Again the two passed a 
glance between themselves. Then they rose together 
in a hurry, and with a bare good-night left him. 

Raoul sat alone, swarthy brow furrowed, hands 
clenched. He made very sure that they were in bed 
before he let himself go. 

In the morning he was careful to take his break- 
fast at the same moment as they. They were taci- 
turn; they ate little, and went out in a hurry. Watch- 
ing from behind the shutter, Raoul saw them go into 
Parma’s lodging. Then he completed a large break- 
fast. And then he also went to call upon the Prince of 
Parma. He announced himself as Jacopo Perrotti, 
a poor gentleman of Siena. 

What was his business? With the utmost respect 

85 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


he must decline to tell any man save the Prince. First 
a lacquey, then a secretary, then an aide, bore away 
that answer. At last he confided (with an air of great 
mystery) in the Marquis of Richebourg that he had 
something of great moment to impart concerning the 
holy enterprise of slaying William of Nassau, called 
Prince of Orange. That was enough. He was 
brought to Parma’s presence. 

“I have never,” Raoul writes, “seen a man so like 
myself,” — and saving that the Prince of Parma was 
taller than he by head and shoulders (which Raoul has 
omitted to notice) and showed no trace of humor, 
the likeness was curiously close. Both faces were 
bold, aquiline, and high-browed. Their hair was 
black and cropped close, their skin swarthy by nature 
and tanned by the weather; their dark eyes were bright, 
restless, and large. 

Raoul looked and approved (he mentions modestly 
that Parma was his ideal of a man), and wasted no 
time. “Your Highness! learning that King Philip 
desires aid in a holy enterprise, I present myself,” 
says he in Italian. 

Parma looked through him. “Kings require ser- 
vice, not aid, sirrah.” 

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. “I am not a man 
of words, your Highness. The King desires to find 
86 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


one who will rid him of William of Nassau. Here 
am I.” 

Parma had his head at an angle, like one who listens 

for faint sounds. “And you are ?” he asked 

without moving. 

“Jacopo Perrotti of Siena, gentleman of fortune.” 

“And you offer?” 

“I go to Holland. With some small matter of a 
petition I present myself to William of Nassau. I 
leave my dagger in his bowels.” 

“Why will you do this?” 

Raoul struck an attitude. “Conceiving William 
of Nassau to be the enemy of God and man, our Holy 
Father the Pope and the King of Spain, I desire to slay 
him and win my salvation.” 

“You expect no reward but salvation.” 

“ Madonna , yes,” said Raoul bluntly. “I desire 
to save my soul, Highness, but also I desire to provide 
for my body. Twenty-five thousand florins the King 
promises for the deed. I shall claim that. Also I 
claim something in hand — a trifle of two thousand 
florins or more of earnest.” 

“Nothing is offered till the deed is done.” 

“If nothing is paid the deed will never be 
done.” 

All this while Parma’s head had been turned a 

s? 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


little for keen listening. He moved it now. “I will 
consider, Messer Jacopo,” said he. 

Raoul flamed up. “Consider? The devil! Con- 
sider? Oh, if your Highness has commissioned an- 
other, I give you joy of him and I take my leave. ” 

“If I have commissioned a hundred, what is it to 
you, sirrah?” 

“It is this, by the Pope: that I will not be caught 
by other men’s blunders.” 

“By other men’s blunders you shall not be caught, 
Messer Jacopo. . . . You shall be my guest for 

a while. You interest me.” He turned to his secre- 
tary. “ See that the gentleman is — entertained . . . 
I think you said you were from Siena, Messer 
Jacopo?” 

“From Siena, Highness.” 

“Ah . . . a good-morning, Messer Jacopo.” 

With perfect Spanish politeness Raoul was con- 
ducted to a room and shut in it. Agreeable chairs 
were brought for him, and food and wine. But he 
was locked in. 

It occurred to Raoul that he had underrated the 
Prince of Parma. He had not supposed the gentle- 
man so like himself. And he was discomposed. If 
Parma were to make inquiries concerning Messer Ja- 
copo Perrotti — if Romero or Valdez or Borgia saw his 
88 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


face — he might well be known for the man he was. 
And then — “a hundred burnings and a thousand 
hangings,” Raoul writes, “would scarce clear my 
account with Spain. ” And Parma suspected already. 
That curious keen listening — that question about 
Siena: Raoul understood them too well for his com- 
fort. His Italian, learnt of his old master Taddeo of 
Brescia, must have the wrong savor. In fact, he 
had walked full into a trap. It annoyed him to be 
there: it annoyed him more that he was there by his 
own foolish fault. And yet — was it his fault? He 
had made himself Italian that Parma, Italian, too, 
might be more ready to trust him. And how was he 
to know that Siena had another dialect than Brescia? 
Raoul — it is extremely like him — seems to have 
spent some hours in proving that he had made no 
mistakes. 

And then he thought of escape. The door was 
fast. If he were to break it with dagger and shoulder, 
the noise would rouse the guard. The window was 
thirty feet off the ground, and if he dropped he would 
come on the pikes of the sentries. They brought him 
a good dinner. He received it most affably and ate it. 
The secretary, peeping in later, found him spinning 
pence with both hands, and was gayly asked to join 
the game. 


89 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Night came, and he made his supper and went to 
bed. A little after his lights were out the secretary 
peeped in again. Raoul snored with enthusiasm. 
But a moment after he was out of bed and disposing 
the bolster to look like a body. A moment more, and 
he was crouching in the big hearth. Then he went up 
the chimney. 

It seemed to him, he records, that he made noise 
enough in that chimney to wake all Brabant. Before 
he banged his head on the coping stone he was quite 
sure that he was choked. But Brabant still slept, and 
Raoul was still alive when his black face came out to 
the cold night air, and he rubbed the soot out of his 
eyes and gasped, and saw the stars. He crawled 
down the tiles to the back of the house and slid by a 
water-spout to the ground. Swiftly, keeping to the 
shadow, he made for the tavern. They were all safe 
asleep there. Scrambling up to the loft, and drop- 
ping down to the manger, he won into the locked 
stable. His own horse was there alone. In a few 
minutes Raoul was clear away from Lillo and the 
Prince of Parma. 

All night he rode with the North Star for his guide. 
There was no safe halting south of the Maas. Not 
till he and his horse came reeling into Ruydorp at high 
noon did he grant himself bath and bed. He slept 
90 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


till dawn. Then he bartered his horse for a better, 
and bought a hat, and was off again to the north. 

He was in a desolate country beyond the Lek, a 
country of poplars and rank grass, when he found 
company. Before him rode two travelers. He gained 
upon them swiftly at first but as soon as they saw 
him they quickened their pace, and for a while there 
was something of a race under the poplars. Raoul 
drew his hat over his eyes and stared through the sun- 
light, and gritted his teeth, and sat down in the saddle. 
Then, while one of them still spurred on, the other 
wheeled and halted all across the track. “Pray, 

sir, do you ” he began, and Raoul reined up under 

his nose. “ Sancta Maria , ora pro nobis 1 What 
have you to do here in Holland ?” he gasped. He 
was the bearded man of Lillo tavern. 

“The same as you,” said Raoul. “Come, sir, let 
us forward. ” He walked his horse against the other, 
shoulder to quarter. 

Jammed together, they lurched on. “The same? 
— what do you mean? Who sent you?” cried the 
bearded man, jabbing at his bridle. “Halt, I tell 
you — halt!” 

Raoul pressed on. “ I come from his Highness the 
Prince, and ” 

“That is a lie!” cried the bearded man. “It is a 


7 


9i 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


lie! You are a rogue, a spy.” He reined off, and 
plucked a pistol from his holsters. 

It was quickly done, but not quickly enough. Raoul’s 
horse bounded under the spur, his sword darted out, 
and was home in the bearded man’s breast. And 
he reeled and fell forward, and shot his pistol into his 
own horse’s neck. The poor brute neighed sharp, 
then quivered, and fell over. Raoul was down almost 
as soon, and his ready fingers at the man’s doublet. 
There was no strength to stay him, and soon he rose 
with a fat leathern bag of money, a bundle of papers, 
a rosary, and a Book of Hours in his hands. 

“That — that” — the dying man gasped: “for the 
love of Christ give me that” — he pointed with trem- 
bling fingers to the rosary. Raoul shrugged his 
shoulders; but he propped the man against his dead 
horse and put the beads in his hands. “Salve, Re- 
gina, Mater — misericordice — vita, dulcedo — spes nostra 

— salve- ” Raoul heard the prayer and the sobs 

as he sprang again to the saddle. 

“Here is a pretty fool to come a-killing!” he mut- 
tered between his teeth. 

His nostrils were wide, his eyes dilated, his cheeks 
were pale beneath the tan. He sent his horse along at 
the best of its speed. Through the rank grass mead- 
ows the track ran level and straight, and his prey 
9 2 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


was full in sight. He was flogging and spurring, and 
shifting in the saddle to look round at Raoul. Swiftly 
Raoul gained. He was a horseman, and the other 
plainly none. Raoul had a pistol out and fired. The 
other tumbled forward in his saddle, but he rose again 
as the rent sleeve flapped back from his bridle arm. 
His horse lost its stride a moment ; Raoul drew up on 
his quarter, dagger ready. The other turned: the 
lean, yellow face, the hay mustache, were scarce an 
arm’s length away. He fired his pistol point-blank 
into the chest of Raoul’s horse. It stumbled and 
fell, and Raoul went over its head. 

Raoul arose with torn hand and arm. His quarry 
was a hundred yards away, galloping still, and he 
turned to see his own horse struggling in its death 
agony. Shaken and smarting, he stood there and 
swore, and gnawed his fingers and swore again. He 
was beaten. 

There was no man nor beast to help him on. No 
town lay on his track for many a mile. He must 
needs tramp on and on and on in his riding boots, and 
every moment Parma’s assassin drew farther and farther 
away. Raoul clenched his fists and began to march. 
Before him fleeing horse and man diminished, turned 
to a dark speck in the grey-green horizon, and faded out. 
The sun beat down upon him from a cloudless sky, 
93 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


and soon every inch of him was soaked in sweat. He 
had begun to walk at a mad pace in his passion, but 
now he forced himself to slacken, for he knew his 
strength would never last him out if he went at speed. 
Mile after mile of brown track passed behind him, 
the shadows lengthened and the air grew cooler. Be- 
hind him the sun was setting in a glorious crimson 
sky, but he knew it only by the blood-red pools that 
gave him drink. As twilight fell he began to count 
the countless poplars till the figures maddened him. 
The stars were clear before he came on a little stead- 
ing. There he offered great sums for a horse, but 
there was none to buy. He got a draught of milk, 
and with a chunk of rye bread and a strip of goat’s 
flesh to munch went tramping on again. 

Poplars rustled silvery white beneath the moon. 
Blue dancing shadows mocked at his weary feet. No 
thought at all worked in him. His mind was empty, 
as if he slept. He was a machine — a machine to get 
on — on — on. The steady, endless thud of his own 
feet deafened him, dazed him. On, and on, and on, 
till the moon was gone and only the stars were white 
in the void. It seemed to him that he never moved at 
all. His legs rose and fell, but the ground stood still, 
still as the North Star on his right hand. Once a 
whinnying horse startled him, and he tried to catch it; 

94 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


but the beast fled away, and Raoul turned to toil at 
the track again — numb with weariness, on — on — on. 

The dark sky paled before him and the stars died. 
Big massed clouds loomed grey in a light blue heaven. 
The sun came. Still on he went, his lips cracked, 
his mouth dry and dusty. A brown, straight ribbon 
stretching into the golden eye of the sun, the track 
lay before him, and he plodded into the light, stoop- 
ing over short feeble steps. At last a thin column of 
smoke smirched the sun’s face. The white and red 
of a farmhouse gleamed. Raoul broke into a sham- 
bling run. 

Milk and wine! Ten florins for milk and wine! 
A hundred florins for a horse! Square stolid Dutch 
folk gazed at him open-mouthed. Fumbling with 
trembling fingers in his clothes, he brought out gold 
and tossed it on the table. Wine they had none, but 
milk was his in plenty and a flask of rye spirit to temper 
it. Gasping still with the raw fire of it, he hauled 
himself across a fat Flanders mare and lumbered off. 
The blood drove faster through him; his mind woke 
again. He looked up at the sun. Fourteen, fifteen 
hours he must have walked. Rotterdam could not 
be far away. With a fresh horse from there he might 
be in Delft by noon. Still there was time . . . 

still there was time. . . . Over the river levels the 

95 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


great beast thundered on. There was a scent of the 
sea in the cool morning air, and Raoul laughed and 
shouted and sang. 

Now the land fled from beneath him, the broad 
water rushed by his side. Gulls skimmed its bosom, 
flashes of white and a thicket of masts stood clear 
against the sky. Rotterdam rose white. Houses 
shut him in on either hand, the causeway narrowed 
and crooked this way and that. Raoul drew rein in 
the courtyard of “The Boar.” The mare was steam- 
ing sweat; Raoul slid off clumsily, and his stiff legs 
failed, and he clutched the mare for help. A bowl of 
soup and a cup of wine while they saddled him a fresh 
beast, and he was mounted and off again. 

And now his eyes were smarting and his brain 
throbbed, and every nerve in him ached. But he 
kept his grip of the saddle, and he drove his horse on 
pitilessly. He was to win, he, little Raoul de Tout le 
Monde, in spite of all the devils in hell. Let Parma’s 
butchers take heed to themselves. Little Raoul was 
back in Delft. His Highness of Parma should know 
his master in craft. Raoul dashed on through the 
sun-glare red-spurred. He was to win! He was to 
win ! And he laughed to his pains. 

Delft rose out of the ground before him. Its canals 
flashed back the light. The fragrance of its limes 
96 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


came down the wind. Past the first houses and on to 
stones with a clatter he came, and the slender tower 
of the old kirk leant across the street before him. 
Raoul was checking his speed and drawing in to the 
side, when there broke upon him the sound of a shot 
and a great shout, and a man ran madly out of the 
old kirk door. Raoul drove in his spurs and was 
after him. Twenty yards away stood a horse in wait- 
ing. The man had come to it, he was clutching the 
bridle, when Raoul snatched his collar from behind 
and checked his horse with a jerk. They slid grating 
over the stones. The face that looked up at Raoul 
was the yellow, lean face of Parma’s assassin. 

Halberdiers had run out of the old kirk shouting, 
brandishing weapons, and they took the fellow from 
Raoul and were near tearing him in pieces as they 
bore him off. Raoul walked his horse back to 
the old kirk, and came down from the saddle and 
reeled in. 

The place was a house, and the lodging of the 
Prince, William of Nassau. The hall was thronged, 
and Raoul gasped out hoarsely to any who might 
answer, “I caught him. I caught him. But what 
had he done?” 

“Shot at the Prince,” a dozen whispered. 

Raoul pushed his way unsteadily through them. 

97 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


But the stair was kept by a couple of soldiers. All 
was silent above. . . . 

A little man, cuirassed and grim, with curious green 
eyes, came down. 

‘‘Colonel — colonel — in the name of God tell me 

” Raoul gasped, and lurching forward caught at 

his arm. 

Colonel Newstead held him up, looked in a mo- 
ment’s amaze at the face streaked with dust and 
sweat, the sunken, red- rimmed eyes, the quivering 
limbs. “The Prince is dead, sir,” said he. 

Raoul’s mouth opened wide, and he gasped. Then 
he staggered back and fell on a bench, and bowed 
himself and sobbed like a woman. 

There was many a muttered curse, they say, and 
prayers and tears. Slowly the throng passed out, and 
the great bell began to toll. But Raoul still sat there 
huddled together, writhing, moaning. 

Newstead took him by the arm. “Enough, cor - 
dieu , enough! Are you a man?” 

Raoul tottered to his feet, and his face was hideous. 
He looked in Newstead’s eyes, and made a queer noise 
in his throat and fell swooning. 

****** 

When Raoul woke again it was the next day. He 
rolled out of bed in the sunshine sore-footed, but 
98 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


hale, with a great emptiness in him. They told him 
he was in Newstead’s quarters, and plenteous good 
food was brought him. He ate and drank, and the 
blood in him beat quick and warm, and his grief came 
back to him. 

Parma had conquered. The murder was done. 
Parma had conquered, after all. He had spent body 
and wit in vain. He had failed — failed damnably. 
He sat there, his head in his hands, and devised oaths 
at himself. 

Ay, he had failed, curst blundering fool, and William 
of Nassau lay dead. The one man of his world who 
was something more than a man, who had flung away 
wealth and ease, who had never failed trust, who had 
believed the impossible and achieved it — Raoul had 
let him die, and himself still lived. Shame tortured 
him. Folly on folly, blunder on blunder, or the 
Prince would still be alive. Was there a dull coward 
in all the two Hollands that could have done more 
amiss? 

He sat huddled together, biting his fingers. 

“You are yourself again?” A brusque soldierly 
voice, and Colonel Newstead stood before him. 

“I thank you, I thank you,” and Raoul turned 
away. 

“It was you, I think, sir, that caught this vile mur- 

99 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


derer?” There was no answer. “You caught him 
as he came to his horse ?” Newstead repeated. 

“Ay, ay,” said Raoul wearily. 

“I am charged to acquaint you that the Estates of 
Holland vote you five hundred florins of reward.” 

“A reward?” cried Raoul. “My God, not that!” 
He pushed back his chair and limped to the window. 

“Why should you not take reward?” 

Raoul felt the keen eyes upon him from behind. 
After a moment he turned and came forward a pace. 
“It is my fault the murder was done.” 

Newstead did not move. It was a moment before 
he spoke. “Since you have said so much, you must 
say more.” 

“I am ready,” Raoul said simply, and told his do- 
ings as they are told here. Newstead stood still, his 
green eyes gazing steadily, his face unmoved. “And 
so I was beaten. I failed. I was late,” Raoul 
ended. . . . 

“And still you must say more. You offered Parma 
to do the murder for money. You meant to take his 
money?” 

“I meant to take his money,” Raoul echoed. 

“You meant to do the murder?” 

Raoul shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “ Does 
it matter what I answer?” 


ioo 


THE BLOOD MONEY 


“I think it matters,” said the Englishman. 

“Then I answer no, mordieul ” Raoul cried, with 
darkening cheeks. “I meant to make money out of 
him — yes. But I meant to spy out his plans, I meant 
to find his butchers. I meant to save the Prince from 
him. Cceur de Dame , that is why I went. . . . ” 

He laughed. “ Meant ! Oh, ay, I meant brave things. 
And this is what I have done. . . . ” He stared into 
Newstead’s keen eyes. “No; you will not believe me, 
and I do not care if you believe me or no. . . . 

No man hates me more than I hate myself.” He 
turned away. 

Newstead put a hand on his shoulder. “Come 
with me,” he said; and Raoul went, his eyes on the 
ground like a criminal with his warder. 

They turned into a room fragrant with flowers, 
a room where children were playing. A little woman, 
maidenly, motherly, whose hair was gleaming gold, 
whose cheeks like sea foam in the rosy light of dawn, 
turned to meet them. Newstead smiled at her: 
“ Gabrielle, I bring you a very brave gentleman, who 
has done all that man might to save the Prince.” 

The woman held out her hand. But Raoul was 
staring wildly at Newstead, and there were tears in his 
eyes, and his throat was choked. 

That is all Raoul tells. But if you care to go bur- 


IOI 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


rowing into the archives you will find that the reward 
to the man who caught the assassin was never paid, 
and that the Estates of Holland received of one whom 
they call Raoul de Monde 2,795 gold florins, “being a 
gift for waging the war.” That must have been the 
money Raoul took from the man he slew on the road — • 
Parma’s blood money. So it served to fight Parma. 

And what is the truth of it all ? Did Raoul mean 
to hire himself for the murder? If Parma had paid 
him would he have done it? Or was it all a dare- 
devil scheme to trick Parma and spy out his plans 
and save the Prince? It is doubtless possible to be- 
lieve either. Raoul himself writes: “Who thinks 

me ready for a butcher’s work may think so.” 

You judge of him as you will; and your judgment 
judges yourself. 


102 


CHAPTER V 


raoul’s moustachios 

T HE salt meadows of Maasluis were hazy in July 
heat. Raoul sprawled on a haycock and his 
horse nibbled it. Raoul rejoiced in being 
again a masterless man. Through an irritating month 
he had held a commission as scout master general to 
His Excellency Philip de Marnix, Seigneur of Sainte 
Aldegonde, Governor of Helvoetsluis. Remembering 
that Sainte Aldegonde was a gentleman who composed 
hymn books you need not wonder that he disagreed 
with Raoul. They parted as I infer without affec- 
tion (Raoul’s opinion of Sainte Aldegonde makes 
vivacious reading) and Raoul rode away back to 
Delft at leisure. 

So he took his ease (which he complains Sainte 
Aldegonde never did) on a haycock and admired his 
own excellencies. The agreeable and familiar occu- 
pation was interrupted by a vision of two horsemen. 
They appeared suddenly from the shadow of a rank 
of poplars, they surveyed the Schiedam road and 
retired again into shadow. Raoul without ostenta- 
103 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


tion rolled off his haycock. If they were looking for 
someone it seemed superfluous to be visible. 

Behind the haycock Raoul and his horse remained, 
both immobile, the horse munching, Raoul observant. 
Through the haze came yet another rider who spurred 
toward Schiedam. He passed the poplars, he passed 
the haycock. Raoul marked that his horse was jaded 
and dusty and damp. He was a hundred yards away. 
Then out from the shadow of the poplars rode the 
two and followed him. 

Raoul yawned. “Eh, Pollux,” says he to his 
horse, “so they are not looking for us. It is impolite.” 
Pollux regarded him with large eyes of tranquil pity — 
and munched. 

Raoul with his chin on the haycock stared down 
the Schiedam road after the one and the two. Some- 
thing was afoot that he did not understand and he 
was annoyed. He clipped the bit into the disap- 
pointed mouth of Pollux and mounted. Since the 
two were hunting the one he hunted the three. . . . 
And he hunted them all into the “Eel and Spectacles” 
inn. 

“For what followed,” he advises you, “accuse 
fate and not me. I protest I was never so passive 
in my life. I responded merely to fate and my 
moustachios.” 

104 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


and they whispered together a moment, and “At 
him, my bully, at him!” they shouted. 

With oaths continuous if indistinct the drunken 
man rolled, lunging, at Raoul, and overreached him- 
self, and staggered forward, to meet the straight 
drive of RaouPs fist and drop like a dog. 

The two gaped at Raoul a moment, then one 
looked down to the fallen man, and “Sped, by my 
bones!” said he with a chuckle, and started up and 
ran to Raoul, crying, “Come, my lad, you were best 
safe away,” and whirled him to the door. 

Raoul let himself be whirled. “I will go — oh, 
yes, I will go,” he stammered with much agitation, 
and went. The door was slammed behind him. 
Then, wholly calm, he walked to the window and, 
unseen, looked in. He saw the two down on their 
knees by the stunned man. They had his cuirass 
off, they loosed his doublet, they fumbled in his bosom. 
The hand of one came away with a paper in it. 

Raoul leapt through the window. He darted 
upon them, he snatched the paper away, he sprang 
back flicking out his sword. They rushed upon him, 
but the first thrusts were his. He was impartial. 
Down went one with his right thigh pierced, down 
went the other. Raoul leapt out through the window 
as the alarmed landlord burst in the door. 

107 


8 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Dutch ejaculation and execration shattered the 
summer evening’s calm. 

Raoul spurred away from them toward Schiedam, 
and smiled. He approved of himself. After night- 
fall he sat in an inn at Vlaardingen and took his 
well-earned ease. With a flask of old Burgundy for 
counsellor he examined the captured paper. It 
was sealed carefully with black wax. Raoul took 
from his bosom a clasp knife, and opened a blade 
thin as a wafer and warmed that over the candle 
and slipped it daintily under the seals. He was not 
a novice. 

There was revealed this epistle in Spanish: 

To Don Guzman de Franqueza, Commandant of Schiedam — 
these. 

The Prince is informed that Newstead threatens you, and 
His Highness this day orders that two companies of shotmen 
with pikemen and pistoliers each a half-company and sakers 
four, march for Schiedam. 

Richebourg. 

From Breda on this S. Peter’s day. The bearer is Pedro 
Valdez, a trusty soul, whom pay fifty crowns. 

R. 

“But certainly!” said Raoul, with a chuckle. 
“Behold me Pedro Valdez.” He warmed the seals 
over the candle and daintily pressed them down again 
and surveyed his handiwork. “I protest it is cheap 
at fifty crowns,” said he, and went happy to bed. 
108 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


Next morning he rode in through the main gate 
of Schiedam. As he came up the market street there 
was some commotion. Three or four citizens gayly 
dressed were marching along, when out of a byway 
came a sergeant’s guard of pikemen and bade them 
halt, and straightway arrested the gayest of them all, 
a sturdy young fellow in cloth-of-silver. He pro- 
tested, his friends protested vehemently, but the 
pikemen listened to no argument, and thrust them 
aside and bore him away, cuffing, kicking, fighting 
like a madman. 

“ Diantre ! ” quoth Raoul, “there is a popinjay of 
energy!” and asked bystanders who the gentleman 
was. 

“It is Gerard Reyd,” came the answer, “Gerard 
Reyd, who was to be married this morning.” 

“From what folly do they save him!” said Raoul, 
and, riding on, observed his struggles continue. 
“And how human is his gratitude!” Then, with a 
shrug for those futile convulsions, Raoul, who him- 
self never wasted strength, rode on to the castle and 
his fifty crowns. 

Pedro Valdez with a letter from the Marquis of 
Richebourg was brought at once to the presence of 
Don Guzman de Franqueza. The commandant was 
a Spaniard of the fair breed, with golden hair and a 
109 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


handsome, humorous face. He broke the letter 
open carelessly, and was reading it when a captain 
came in to announce that the burgesses Joost Reyd 
and Adrian Kloet demanded to speak with his excel- 
lency. His excellency laughed. “ My burgesses amuse 
me,” quoth he. “Well! perhaps I shall amuse my 
burgesses.” 

He was still laughing when they came in — two 
plump Dutchmen, richly arrayed, puffing and red. 
“And what is my burgesses’ prayer?” his excellency 
asked politely. 

The elder of the two, a greybeard of some dignity, 
strode forward. “Sir,” he cried, “your pikemen 
have arrested my son on his wedding morning ” 

“Oh, give me leave! This is not his wedding 
morning. Faith, I doubt his wedding morning 
will never dawn.” 

The two looked at each other. “What do you 
mean, sir ? ” said one in a low voice. 

“Many things. Mynheer Reyd, your good son 
Gerard was on his way to wed the fair Mary Kloet ? 
And his mind is to wed her or never wed woman ? ” 

“Ay, sir.” 

“Then, poor fool, he is like to die a bachelor.” 

“And why, sir?” cried the greybeard. 

“Because he will never die her husband. Why 


no 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


again? Because that pleasure I reserve for myself. 
Therefore I arrested the good Gerard betimes. You 
behold in me, burgesses, one who purposes to die 
and live the fair Mary’s husband. Unless in the 
providence of God I live her widower. Mark me, 
Mynheer Kloet” — he turned to the younger, the 
smaller man — “do you recall that I proposed myself 
for your daughter?” 

“Ay, sir,” quoth the small man sturdily. “And 
you were answered that the maid wished it as little 
as I.” 

“Good burgess, what she wishes is of no account. 
I wish for her. That determines her work in life.” 

“God forbid!” her father muttered. 

The commandant laughed gently. “Father-in-law, 
you misapprehend the case. Mary’s dear love 
Gerard lies in my castle wedded to fetter and shackle- 
bolt. You will give me Mary to wife with the dowry 
you promised Gerard, and make me, like him, the 
heir to all you have, or — or, father-in-law — I hang 
Mary’s dear love Gerard from the battlements for 
the wind to play with.” 

Gasping, shuddering and chill, the two fathers 
shrank back. Then, hoarsely, “It is vile — it is an 
infamy!” cried Gerard’s father. “We are free 
burghers all. We have rights. We ” 


hi 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The commandant laughed. “Do you indeed 
think that a thing like you has rights against Don 
Guzman de Franqueza? A Dutchman, a base 
burgess trader, talk of rights! You amuse me. 
If I deign to wed a wench of your kind ” 

“For the money she brings you!” cried Joost Reyd. 

The commandant waved his hand. “The base- 
born flesh needs gilding,” quoth he. 

“Sir, I beseech you consider!” cried Adrian 
Kloet. “ Mary cannot love you. She must hate you.” 

The commandant laughed. “ That will amuse me.” 

“Oh, how can it please you to wed a woman who 
loathes you?” 

“I profess it pleases me mightily.” 

“Nay, sir, you jest. I pray you spare her — spare 
her love: let the two be free to wed and the money 
shall be yours — the dowry, all the rest. I will give 
it freely.” 

The commandant looked at him curiously; but in 
a moment, — “No, by the living God, no!” Joost 
Reyd thundered. “If my son be done to death, God 
will give him courage and us. Neither his death nor 
his life shall put a denier in that man’s hand.” 

(Away in the background, “I am glad you are not 
my father,” Raoul murmured. “Or . . . or 

perhaps I am sorry.”) 


1 1 2 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


The commandant laughed. “My burgesses, you 
weep and you thunder idly. I shall spare you noth- 
ing. I will have both maid and dowry, dowry and 
maid.” 

Then Adrian Kloet drew a long breath and fell 
back, and, little and helpless, he looked defiance. 
“For the maid and her lover I answer, as God is 
their father, we will yield you nothing!” he cried. 

“Does the maid say so indeed?” said the com- 
mandant, laughing. “Then tell her that her lover 
shall hang. Away, away, burgess: bear the glad 
tidings.” 

The two glared at him, impotent hands trembling 
with wrath. Then with a groan Joost Reyd turned 
and drew his friend away and out. 

The commandant rose leisurely, chuckling. Raoul 
came from the background and stood before him. 
“Well, sirrah?” quoth the commandant, surprised. 
“Oh, ay! You are the man from Breda.” 

“The man,” Raoul agreed, “from Breda.” 

“And you see we can amuse ourselves in Schiedam.” 

“Your excellency,” Raoul agreed, “amuses me 
infinitely.” 

His excellency chuckled, and took up the letter 
again and again read it. “I see that I owe you 
something, my friend.” 

1 13 


A GENTLEMAN OE FORTUNE 


Raoul bowed. “Your excellency is pleased to 
acknowledge it.” 

“Well, come to me in an hour. I go to tell this 
happy bridegroom his destiny and hers. And then 
I must dine. Faith, this business wakes the appetite.” 

Raoul bowed again, and went to look for a dinner 
himself. He too had an appetite. 

The woes of the prisoned bridegroom and the 
bride bereft lay, he assures you, light upon his too 
experienced soul. “Cabbages and Dutch bride- 
grooms,” he writes, “are two of God’s creatures I 
could never love.” He admired a little the stubborn 
fathers. He admired also a little the humorous 
ingenuity of the commandant. For the lady he was 
not concerned, since, as he writes, “she was like to 
have more salt in her life as Don Guzman’s spouse 
than with any Dutchman inside the dykes.” So, 
he protests, he went out of the commandant’s presence 
eminently uninterested and impartial. I do not 
know whether I believe him. 

Close by the castle gate he found an inn of opulent 
aspect, and he entered and vociferously demanded 
dinner. A mess of boiled beef was brought, and he 
sat down to it. In a moment he rapped out an oath 
that brought the tapster back into the room with a 
jump. Raoul beckoned to him: “Hither, varlet, 
114 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


hither! Boiled beef with no salt — what is it but 
nausea to a Christian mouth? Resolve me that, 
rogue.” 

“Salt?” the tapster giggled. “Your honor asks 
for salt?” 

Raoul took him by the ear. “I asked no fool 
to laugh,” quoth he. 

“Oh!” squeaked the tapster heartily. “Alack! 
Oh, alack, your honor, there is no salt in all Schiedam.’ 

“Unsavory town. But why, rogue?” 

The tapster was released, and rubbing his ear he 
expounded. “Your honor must know that we of 
Schiedam get all our salt from the sea-water pans 
at Saaldwyk. For a month past the Englishman 
Newstead has been in camp with his troops at Saald- 
wyk, so that he has cut us off from our salt entirely.” 

“Bah!” quoth Raoul. “He does not guess how 
much better some of you would look pickled. Bah! 
Away! Bring me herbs, many herbs, to make this 
mess less vile.” From that and the unsalted bread 
he made a bad meal, and mourned: “Alas, my 
body. The only body I have. I wonder if you will 
ever forgive me. . . . You feel as if you would 

not. . . . Why was I such a fool as to come to 

this unseasoned town? For fifty crowns! Bah! five 
thousand would not pay me for my swallowings.” 

II S 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


In a very bad temper he went back to the com- 
mandant. The commandant had a bandage about 
his head. Raoul was pleased to find someone else 
injured. “Your excellency has met a misfortune,” 
said he, and twirled his moustachios with satisfaction. 
“Oh, I trust the bridegroom was not unruly.” 

His excellency cursed the bridegroom. 

“I fear he did not appreciate your excellency’s 
humor. I fear he ” 

“He broke my head,” growled his excellency. 
“And you may hold your tongue. Or go into double 
fetters like him.” 

Raoul bowed to his excellency. But mentally 
he bowed to the bridegroom — who was plainly some- 
thing more than a cabbage. Raoul curled his 
moustachios more rotundly in the bridegroom’s 
honor. 

“Keep your cursed hands still,” growled the 
irritable commandant. 

Raoul’s hands stayed still with the moustachios 
in them — not from obedience but amazement. “No 
man before,” he assures you, “had ever the impudence 
to meddle with my moustachios’ curve.” 

“You want fifty crowns,” said the commandant. 
“There they are.” Raoul bowed stiffly — he was 
upon his dignity now — and pouched them. “Now — • 
116 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


you come from Breda. The Prince was there when 
you left: what forces had he?” 

Since Raoul knew no more or perhaps less than the 
commandant, the answer required, you will agree, 
some thought. Raoul began to lie carefully and 
slowly, twirling his small moustachios as his way 
was when thinking. 

“Speak out, man! speak out!” cried the impatient 
commandant. “You fidget with your mouth like 
a Barbary ape.” 

Raoul stopped short. “My moustachios displease 
your excellency?” he inquired coldly. 

His excellency started up in a rage. “Away with 
your moustachios!” he cried. “Away with you! 
Shave yourself and get some sense.” 

Raoul went out with dignity. 

But not to a barber’s. He sauntered through the 
market-place, feeling the wronged moustachios, and 
reflected. “ That person is wholly disgusting. Shave, 
quotha! The only moustachios I ever loved! I 
dislike him infinitely. . . . Oh, I dislike everything 
infinitely. . . . I — I think I will go get some salt.” 

He was responding, you observe, to his moustachios 
and fate. 

The meadows are billowy toward the salt pans at 
Saaldwyk. Raoul was challenged by an unseen 
ny 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


sentry. A corporal’s guard rose up from a hollow 
to take him to the invisible camp. 

Hidden in an angle of the shore-dyke were near a 
thousand men. On the dyke sat Newstead, their 
leader, the little man with the curious green eyes 
that look down the centuries, and Gaspar Wieder- 
man, his huge, tawny-haired camp-marshal, and old 
Zouch, the quartermaster. Below them the men 
stood at their ease, disorderly, half-armed. It was 
the full council of the Free Companions. 

Old Zouch was speaking. “The charge is: these 
two, Robin Curtnose and Peter the Poet, they were 
set to watch the road from Maasluis to Schiedam for 
a messenger of Parma’s carrying dispatches. They 
have brought the messenger into camp, but they say 
that a young fellow robbed them of the dispatches: 
one man, as they say, robbing and wounding them 
both. The charge is that they failed of their duty, 
whereby this Free Company is injured.” 

Raoul, tiptoeing, beheld his friends of the “Eel 
and Compasses” under guard, and smiled upon the 
universe. They were so symmetrically bandaged. 

Newstead spoke. “Robin Curtnose: Peter the 
Poet: how do you answer the charge?” 

“It is true,” said Robin Curtnose; and Peter the 
Poet said in a low voice, “It is true.” 

ix8 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


“Free Companions ! ” Newstead cried, “you have 
heard the charge. The prisoners confess it is true. 
Give sentence.” 

A low murmur ran among the throng; then a man 
stood out from the rest and pointed with naked sword 
to the ground; and the murmur swelled to a word — 
“Death! Death!” and was still again. 

“Who gainsays that?” cried Newstead. But all 
was still. 

“ It is just,” said Peter the Poet ; and Robin Curtnose 
echoed, “It is just.” 

Newstead stood up. “One death is enough,” 
he said. “One life I give. Let them cast the dice 
which shall die.” 

A drummer came thrusting through the throng 
and set his drum down at Newstead’s feet and a dice 
box upon it. Newstead beckoned to the two. They 
came slowly. 

“I am ten years the elder,” said Robin Curtnose 
half to himself. “I give him the throw. Let Peter 
live.” 

“No, by God!” cried Peter the Poet. “I cannot 
live if Robin dies for it; and Robin is the better man — 
and the better man should live.” 

“One life is given,” said Newstead. “Throw 
the dice.” 

119 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“And one life I claim !” It was Raoul as he strode 
forward, eyes agleam. “Colonel Newstead! I am 
he who robbed your men, and, pardieu , the man who 
is beat by me need feel no shame. I will tell you all, 
and much more than you had learnt from that dis- 
patch, matter of high import to this Free Company; 
and the price of the story is — one life.” Raoul 
struck an attitude on the dyke, and the Free Com- 
panions stared at him. He enjoyed himself. 

“What are their lives to you?” Newstead asked. 

“I like men,” said Raoul. 

There was a mutter of “Who is he?” in the throng. 

Raoul laughed. “Little Raoul de Tout le Monde, 
gentlemen, who has done some little things sinful 
and other in this sinful world.” 

A look of some humor crossed Newstead’s lean, 
sunburnt face. “I know this cavalier,” said he, 
“Free Companions! If it prove that the Free Com- 
pany has taken no hurt, shall the life be spared?” 

Again there was a murmur, again one man stepped 
out from the rest. He drew his sword half from the 
scabbard, then clashed it home; and from behind him 
a thousand scabbarded swords clashed again. The 
Free Company voted life. 

Gaspar Wiederman heaved himself up and gave 
gruff orders. The throng broke up. The prisoners 


120 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


were borne away in guard. Newstead took Raoul 
by the arm. 

“Come, my friend,” said he, and drew him to a 
little turf hut in the shadow of the dyke. Gaspar 
Wiederman followed, and Zouch. Within was a 
table, one chair, and a saddle. 

“I preface,” said Raoul, sitting down on the saddle, 
“that when I came into the affair I did not know 
that Colonel Newstead was there already,” and then 
told his story — how he quarreled at the inn, how he 
stole the letter, and what was in the letter, and how he 
took it to Don Guzman. Gaspar Wiederman coughed 
and coughed again. “Precisely,” said Raoul. “As 
the camp-marshal suggests. For fifty crowns. So 
then Don Guzman expects those forces. His own 
are yet slender, being. . . Raoul precisely 

detailed them. 

“Faith!” growled Gaspar, “you have the head of 
a soldier, if you had not chosen to be — something else. 
Why, having gone to the Spaniard, do you come to 
us?” 

“For the honor of my moustachios — by Don 
Guzman aspersed. And on behalf of my stomach.” 

Newstead smiled. “And what does Monsieur 
Raoul now suggest to Colonel Newstead?” he 
inquired. 


121 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“A surprise, an onfall, a storm. Here is my 
strategy. That town is starving for salt. Send some 
of your fellows habited like peasants with salt to sell. 
Let them cut down the guard at the gate. Your 
company storms in. Don Guzman is overwhelmed. 
Behold my plan. I give it freely. Make it your 
own.” 

“Monsieur Raoul,” said Newstead quietly, “what 
plan do you think mine was when I seized the salt 
pans?” 

“ Diantre!” Raoul cried, — “you meant this from 
the first? Colonel, I salute you with my heart.” 
And he started up to do so with his sword. “ Then I 
go back to Schiedam.” Gaspar Wiederman coughed. 
“Tell me when you will come into the town, and I 
will engage, I, little Raoul de Tout le Monde, that 
they shall not be able to shut the castle gates that 
day. One’s moustachios must do something, mordieu! 
But for my stomach’s sake I would beg you come 
quickly.” 

“I shall be into Schiedam ” said Newstead, 

and Gaspar was seized by a fit of coughing: New- 
stead continued unheeding: “ on the morning 

of the day after to-morrow.” 

“ So be it,” said Raoul, bowing, and turned to the 
table. “I take the salt-cellar and my leave.” 


122 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


Newstead gave him a hand-grip and let him go. 
He was hardly gone when Gaspar broke out: “By 
the devil of Dresden, the little puppet may betray 
us all ! 

Newstead laughed and shook his head. “I know 
him. When he talks like a liar you may believe him. 
He loves to act the hero, and sometimes, cordieu , 
is more a hero than he thinks.” 

“That is not possible,” Gaspar grunted. 

So Raoul went back to Schiedam and had salt 
with his supper. 

The next day he spent lounging about the castle 
gates. He had the gratification of observing from 
time to time certain peasants — in accent, in bearing 
they were almost excessively peasants — who had a 
trifle of salt to sell. They announced that Newstead 
was moving camp from the salt pans, and promised 
Schiedam more salt on the morrow. The afternoon 
was waning, the shadow of the castle lay full across 
the market-place, when Raoul, spread on a bench 
by the inn door, saw one of the commandant’s captains 
come out. Raoul hailed him, waggled a flask at him 
and bade him drink. “Only a sup, then,” quoth 
the captain with regret: “I am in haste.” 

“Poor devil,” Raoul yawned. 

The captain laughed and drank. “Don Guzman 
9 123 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


has lost patience. I go to Kloet’s house to tell the 
fair Mary that if she come not to Don Guzman to- 
night her lover shall hang to-morrow morn.” 

Raoul yawned again. “ God bless to-morrow,” 
said he. 

Then, the captain gone, he dropped his eyelids 
and considered this new case. He condemned Don 
Guzman’s impatience. It was purely inconvenient. 
Now, or ever Newstead came, the maid might yield, 
and Don Guzman get his desire. “Which my 
moustachios,” Raoul muttered, “would profoundly 
deplore.” He contorted himself in thought. . . . 

But rose and lounged down the street to meet the 
returning captain. “What fortune?” he asked. 

The captain chuckled. “ The maid wept, and 
Kloet committed me to hell. I said the lover would 
be there to-morrow.” He poked Raoul’s ribs and 
passed on chuckling. 

“I suppose,” Raoul meditated, “the maid will 
let her lover die so she may be safe from Don Guzman. 
Her lover might give her little thanks for that. But 
my moustachios are grateful. For Don Guzman is 
spited. And if Newstead is too late to save the lover 
a hanging — why, the maid may still find one Dutch 
bridegroom as good as another.” Raoul lounged 
along complacent. 


124 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


But as the twilight deepened he saw a girl steal 
out of Mynheer Kloet’s house and hurry towards the 
castle. The girl had changed her mind. Selfishly, 
mordieu, neglecting the moustachios! Raoul bit 
his teeth on an oath, and swung across her path and 
gripped her wrist. “Mistress Kloet!” he hissed, 
“do you dare? Will you be false to your love?” 

. “False?” the girl gasped, trembling. “False? 
Oh, God help me! I — I — ” she sobbed — “I go to 
save him the only way I can.” 

“To save him? Bah! Would he not rather die 
a thousand times than you should yield yourself 
to this Spaniard?” 

“I know, I know,” the girl sobbed piteously. 

“Then you are traitor to him and traitor to love.” 

Raoul felt the girl’s body quiver. He saw the 
agony on her wan face. “I — I cannot have him 
die,” she moaned. 

“What life is the life you save for him so? You 
leave him no happiness, no honor.” 

“I — I cannot — ” she was sobbing against RaouPs 
heart — “I cannot bear him to die.” 

But RaouPs face was set and grim. “Do you 
think only of yourself? Do you love only yourself? 
You — you cannot bear the pain of his death. You 
must have the joy of sacrificing yourself, though by 

125 


GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


the sacrifice you shame him. I’ God’s name, love 
him better! Bear your pain. Give him the honor. 
Let him die to keep you pure.” 

The girl’s sobs were hushed. Wistfully through 
tears she looked at Raoul. “ Yes : he would wish that,” 
she murmured. “He would wish that. I thank 
you. I — I will bear my pain. Oh, I thank you.” 

Raoul bowed low, and watched her turn and pass 
home in the gloom, helpless with her sorrow. Raoul 
drew a long breath. “And I wonder if I believe it 
all?” said he. “. . . Or if the Dutchman does? 
. . . Eh, but this complicates the affair.” He passed 
on deep in thought. He had indeed harmed Don 
Guzman pleasantly — but only by meddling with 
other people’s lives: if the Dutchman were hanged 
now it would be his work. Raoul (it is one of his 
virtues that I like much) never declined his respons- 
ibilities. 

He turned short and made for the castle. There 
he was amiable and witty to the sergeant of the guard. 
Ere the wicket gate was closed for the night he 
had the happiness to behold Don Guzman come to 
it and stare out, looking vainly for his prey. With 
an oath for the maid, and a vile jest at her and her 
doomed lover, Don Guzman turned at last, and 
strode away to his quarters. Raoul, following dis- 
126 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


creetly, sat down on his stairway, and went to sleep 
at once like a dog. Like a dog he woke at the first 
sound ere dawn, and went back to the gateway again, 
and was zealous in helping the guard to open the 
great gates. But as he helped, he rolled along the 
ground under the ball of his foot four pistol bullets; 
and he pushed them into the slots where the bolts 
should go, and ground them down with his heel hard. 
Then he lounged by the gate-post, chatting easily, 
though every nerve in him was at strain. Any 
moment might bring the sound of Newstead’s onfall. 
Any moment Don Guzman might come forth to order 
the Dutchman’s hanging. 

Don Guzman was first. He strode into the gate- 
way and peered down the street, and turned again 
with a curse. “ Reeve me a rope over the gate,” 
he growled. “ Go one of you to Kloet’s house, and 
bid his daughter come to see her bridegroom kick 
a last time. By my faith, he shall hang this hour.” 

“That is crude,” said Raoul aloud. The com- 
mandant turned upon him with an oath. “ Oh, 
perhaps your excellency desires to be kind to him.” 
His excellency with another oath denied such intention. 
“If I were your excellency, I would go tell the man 
his bride is yours, and give him a worse pang than 
hanging.” 


127 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Don Guzman laughed. “By my faith, a noble 
thought. Go, get me the key of his cell. ,, 

Raoul ran off with enthusiasm. He took the keys 
from the master of arms, and, elaborately polite, 
ushered Don Guzman into the main tower and down 
the winding stair, and past the powder magazine to 
the dungeons. 

They entered a dark noisome cell, and Raoul 
carefully locked the door behind them. One beam 
of light from a grating high in the wall broke the 
darkness, and showed the hapless bridegroom lying 
in his double fetters. 

Don Guzman stirred him with his foot. “Ha, 
dog! I bring you good news. Since yesterday, 
that bride of yours is mine.” Raoul heard the irons 
clank as the man shuddered — heard a choked sob. 
Don Guzman laughed, and peered forward in the 
dim light to see the tortured face. “Ay, you may 
groan. She has well forgot you, dog. She has such 
joy in me that she cares not, she says, whether you 
live or die, and so ” 

“Thank God!” cried the man. “Ah, thank God! 
Now I know that you lie!” 

The commandant, blaspheming, flashed out his 

sword. “Dog, swine, filth ” He made a pass 

at the helpless man. 


128 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


His sword scraped along Raoul’s. 

He jumped round upon Raoul with louder oaths. 
“Your excellency,” said Raoul politely, “pray con- 
sider my moustachios.” The commandant cursed 
his moustachios and made a wild thrust at him. 
Raoul’s sword flashed a riposte. The commandant’s 
sword fell. Quite gently he swayed back against the 
wall. Raoul’s point was through his eye and his brain. 

Raoul laid him down and stood over him. “I 
congratulate the world,” said he, and he twirled his 
moustachios. “You also, my dears.” Then he 
dropped on his knees beside the amazed Dutchman 
and began to try his keys on the fetterlocks. 

“Is she safe? Tell me! Is she safe?” the Dutch- 
man cried. 

Raoul laughed and nodded, wrenching a stiff 
lock round. “Did she send you to me?” 

Raoul laughing dealt with another lock: “Faith, 
I think she did.” 

“Is she not wonderful?” said the Dutchman. 

“Humph. I think I am a little wonderful, too,” 
Raoul grunted, as he swung the last of the fetters 
clattering away. He had the door open. He bore 
the Dutchman (cramped limbs would scarce move) 
out into the passage-way. He locked Don Guzman 
dead into his own dungeon. 

129 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Then he dragged the Dutchman to the black dark- 
ness at the passage end. For there was the roar of 
a fight above. Newstead was in. And Raoul 
had no mind to trust himself with a helpless man to 
the fury of a storm. 

Under cover of night (to tell a tale the chroniclers 
have told better) Newstead brought all his company 
close to the walls of Schiedam and hid himself cun- 
ningly. An hour after dawn there rolled up to the 
main gate a huge wagon heaped with powdered 
salt. The guard gave it a glad welcome. It was 
scarce across the threshold when a score armed men 
leapt out of the mound of salt and tossed away the 
veils that had saved their eyes and fell upon the 
guard and hewed them down, and jammed the great 
gates with wedges. Two hundred horsemen broke 
from ambush and galloped headlong to the gate. 
Six hundred footmen followed them at a run. The 
horsemen thundered on through Schiedam streets 
to the castle. The footmen swarmed upon the walls 
and hurled their garrison down. At the castle, when 
they heard the din and saw this regiment of horse 
whirling down upon them, there was tumult and the 
guard ran to shut the gates. But they could not force 
the bolts into their slots, and at the first rush the gates 
were clashed back and wide. Newstead was in. 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


A fierce fight raged in the castle yard. The 
Spaniards, half armed, some but half clothed, hurled 
themselves recklessly into the fray. But they were 
driven back and back, and the captains, bleeding, 
distraught, held an instant’s council, and one ran 
to seek Don Guzman. Raoul and his Dutchman 
saw him batter upon the door of the cell, heard him 
shout and shout again to the dead. . . . Then 

came oaths of amazement . . . and then he ran 

back to his comrades. But he found the fight lost 
and won. What of the Spaniards were left alive 
had been driven from the courtyard into the towers, 
and Newstead’s men beset the stairways, slaying 
still. The Spanish captain — give the nameless dead 
the honor of his deed — turned and ran down again 
hot-foot for the magazine, to fire the powder, and 
vanquished, win victory through death. 

Raoul heard him come — caught through the din 
the patter of powder — and dashed down the passage- 
way. The Spaniard was stooping with flint and 
steel and tinder over a powder train. Raoul ran 
him through, and stamped wildly hither and thither 
on the sparks that he scattered as he fell. There 
was a flash of yellow light and thunder; Raoul was 
hurled out into the passage-way and beyond him the 
wall and the stair fell roaring down. . . . 

I 3 I 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul came to himself again in the dark, with the 
Dutchman holding up his head. Raoul staggered 
to his feet and felt his way to the mass of ruin. Raoul 
began to drag the stones aside, and he toiled madly 
till he was drenched with sweat and his limbs would 
move no more. Still no gleam of light, no breath 
of air, came through the mass. . . . Raoul sat 

down on the ground and shrieked curses at himself 
and his world and his God. 

“Sir, sir,” said the Dutchman hastily, “this is 
not right; this is not like a man ” 

“A man?” Raoul cried: “I am not a man. . . . 
Ah, but I have been a man, and done a man’s deeds, 
mordieu . . . and this is the end of it all, to die 

like a rat in a hole!” He stamped and gnawed his 
hands in impotent rage. 

The Dutchman turned from him and began to 
pull at the ruin. Feebly but steadily still, hour by 
hour, he toiled. Ever and again Raoul would come 
and work madly by his side — then turn away and 
fling himself down and writhe and groan and curse. 
. . . So the hours went by in the dark — long 

hours — till they both lay worn out and tortured with 
thirst. . . . 

A gleam of light clove the dark. Raoul saw it, 
and dragged himself to his feet shrieking hoarsely. 
132 


RAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


A cheery shout answered. The light broadened. 
Through it came the scrape and crash of men toiling. 
Raoul flung himself on the stones and strained up 
to the light. “ Water!” he gasped — “water!” 

After a while a leather bottle came bumping 
down. Raoul grasped it, and reeled to the Dutchman, 
who lay moaning, and let the water drop on his hot, 
wrinkled lips. The man gasped, and broke into wild 
delirious laughter; and Raoul gave him more and 
gently more, till the laughter hushed, and he began to 
cry. Then Raoul permitted himself to drink. . . . 
He gulped, he coughed, he rubbed a hand across his 
eyes. Then he brushed his clothes and folded his 
arms, and made ready to receive his saviors with a 
pose soldierly, heroic. 

The din of the laborers was loud. Each moment 
saw the hole in the ruin broader. There clambered 
through it a man naked to the waist. “Ha!” says 
Raoul, “good-day to you, Monsieur Robin Curtnose.” 

Robin Curtnose grinned and saluted. “Will you 
up, master?” 

“My bridegroom first,” said Raoul; and together 
they hoisted the Dutchman out to light, to freedom 
at last. 

Robin Curtnose helped Raoul through; and Raoul, 
blinking at his saviors, all dappled with sweat and 
133 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


stone dust, found Colonel Newstead. “Ah, Colonel! 
The gates did not shut, I think?” said he airily. 
“The commandant also had the kindness to expire 
appropriately.” 

Newstead wrung his hand. “And that I never 
thought to do again,” said Newstead. “We tore it 
out of these knaves that you were in the dungeons 
when the powder fired, and I doubted even Raoul 
de Tout le Monde would scarce find a way to live. 
But there were three who swore they would have you 
out, alive or dead — three who have toiled all day 
and all night — three who said they owed you some- 
thing: the camp-marshal here, because he had be- 
lieved you a rogue; Robin Curtnose and Peter the 
Poet because Cordieu , catch him!” 

Afterwards Raoul remembered grasping at Gaspar 
Wiederman’s huge hand; remembered also the huge 
grins of Robin Curtnose and Peter the Poet — but no 
more. For his heroic pose collapsed, and he fell 
down and went to sleep where he fell. 

He woke, however, before Gerard Reyd, his 
rescued Dutchman. For it was he, five-and-twenty 
hours after, who haled Gerard Reyd out of bed, and 
induced him, somnolent, into his clothes, and hurried 
him to that house where Mary Kloet was waiting in 
glad impatience. The sight of her, he records, 
134 


EAOUL’S MOUSTACHIOS 


did at last wake Master Gerard, who ran to her. 
‘‘Her blush,” Raoul writes, “made me rejoice that 
I wore moustachios.” 

“You were certainly meant to be wed,” he re- 
marked, and made his bow, and was going. 

“Ah, sir, but we have to thank you for so much!” 
the girl cried. 

Raoul turned again. “ Believe me, you have 
better things to do,” he said; and smiled upon them, 
and went out with a swagger, twirling his mous- 
tachios. 


135 


CHAPTER VI 


RAOUL* S QUEEN 

I T was no romance but pure business that brought 
Raoul to Namur. War reigned and Walloon 
and Hollander were not delicate in slaughter or 
hate, but still the goldsmith of Amsterdam must 
needs have his account with the money changer of 
Namur. Raoul was come south to settle it. You 
may laugh at old Ven Meteren for trusting his florins 
to such a one. It is likely he thought no better of 
Raoul’s moralities than you, but he conceived him- 
self to know when Raoul would think it worth while 
to be a knave. He was right, and Raoul did not rob 
him of the worth of a herring and all this is no more 
matter than to explain you why Raoul was strutting 
on Meuse bank in the savor of a summer afternoon. 

Raoul was more than common fine. His cassock 
coat and his hose were of crimson silk, but his sleeves 
were slashed with silver velvet and, from cuffs in cloth 
of silver, ruffles of Mechlin lace dyed crimson fell over 
his lean brown hands. He had an opal or so in the 
gold buckle of his hat and a chain of gold linked with 
136 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


silver thrice about his neck. Only his eyes and the 
plain steel cross handle of his rapier looked ready for 
work. 

The good folks of Namur, or their women at least, 
were mustering along the quay. Raoul winked at 
one fair, fat maid and dandled another’s chin and 
found two who were thin enough to please him. 
(“From feminine circumferences,” says he some- 
where, “chaste saints preserve me!” He was of the 
same taste as Napoleon.) “Fair ladies,” says he, 
as he parted their shoulders and thrust in between 
them, “let me make the ham of your sandwich.” 

“ ’Tis the task of a pig, sir,” says one. 

“But you’re mere bread and butter without me,” 
quoth Raoul and clapped an arm about each slim 
waist: “Has not life more relish so?” 

One giggled and endured. The other freed herself. 
“You put too much sauce in it, sir,” said she. It 
was to her Raoul looked. She was quick and whole- 
some, he assures you, with an uncommon end to her 
nose. His examination of it was interrupted. 

The people of Namur made a joyful noise. Along 
the quay came a litter and a cavalier that glittered at 
each other. The litter was drawn by six black horses 
spangled with silver and itself was all of glass, bound 
by golden columns. On its cushions of gold, clad 
137 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


with blue velvet, a woman lay in grace. Her cavalier, a 
blaze of color and metals, caracoled beside her mag- 
nificent. So they passed the waving kerchiefs. Don 
John of Austria and Queen Margot of Navarre. He 
bent his fair curls to her window with some gallantry. 
The divine mockery of her laugh gratified Raoul. 

He turned to the girl with the unusual nose : “ That 
is the way to laugh at a man, my dear,” said he — 
“as if he could never understand you. He can of 
course. You’re clear as water, but he likes to think 
you are dark as wine.” 

“You are knowing, sir. And that is what I hate in 
a man,” said the girl. 

“But I like your nose,” said Raoul. “A nose of 
wicked originality.” 

“It turns up at you, sir.” 

“ Well, I would not have it blush, ” Raoul admitted. 
“Come let me sing the nose a love song,” and he was 
more urgent about her waist and let her giggling com- 
rade go, 

“Good lack, sir, in broad daylight!” the girl cried, 
holding his lips off. 

“ That is a promise for the twilight, ” quoth Raoul 
and kissed her. “I seal it so.” 

She won away from him, she stood a moment coun- 
terfeiting wrath, her eyes were roguish as his as she 

138 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


fled. It will not surprise you that after sundown 
Raoul came swaggering back to the quay. 

But the girl with the unusual nose he was never to 
see again. What came to his bosom instead was a 
man common enough in nose and other matters, a 
bloated fellow in stained, frayed finery, with many 
weapons. This gentleman was in a mighty hurry 
and he dashed himself upon Raoul. Raoul gave him 
a tough shoulder and he rebounded with oaths and 
flung a vicious kick up at Raoul’s stomach. But 
Raoul knew that tactic. The swinging kick was 
brought up short upon Raoul’s shin and as the fellow 
reeled over groaning on his broken leg, Raoul fell upon 
him and introduced his head to the pavement. He 
liked to pay debts in full. 

Raoul rose smiling and as he rose saw a glitter of 
metal in the senseless hand. There was no delicacy 
about him. He took it and found it a circle of tin. 
There was a cypher scratched on it that might have 
been many things and was probably meant for a 
boar’s head. 

Raoul lounged away from the prostrate gentleman 
who had begun to groan — and meditated upon his 
duty to providence. “When the event incalculable 
called me, ever I sought to respond, ” he writes. That 
is to say, he was as fond of mystery as a jackdaw. He 

10 139 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


put his nose fairly into this one. “Why does the 
gentleman carry a pig’s head?” says he. “And why 
does it make him in such a hurry?” Then he 
scratched his nose. The boar’s head was the crest 
of William de la Marck, the pirate-privateer, the chief 
of the Beggars of the Sea. But it was not like De 
la Marck to be striking game so far inland as Namur. 
“I wonder — ” says Raoul — “if I were to hurry with 
the pig’s head, I wonder what it would bring me ? ” 
He turned about and hurried with enthusiasm, going 
down stream like the prostrate gentleman towards the 
loneliest, lime-shadowed end of the quay. 

Out of the gloom he heard a mutter of voices. He 
saw darkly a galley with full crew lying off the water 
steps, two men above. Raoul walked up to the nose 
of one of them, who looked with contempt over his 
modest extent and said: “Who in heaven are you, 
whelp?” Raoul held out the circle of tin. The man 
crushed it in his hand. 

“So much for that. It belongs to fat Silas, not 
you. ” He gripped Raoul’s collar and the other man 
drew close, loosening his dagger. 

“Precisely,” said Raoul coolly. “Fat Silas has 
tumbled over himself and broken his leg, so he sent 
me to take his share. ” 

The two men muttered together a moment. “ Get 
140 


KAOUL’S QUEEN 


in with you,” one growled. “And if you fail me I’ll 
have my dagger in your weasand. ” 

Raoul was well content. The adventure promised 
abundantly. He found himself one of six at the oars 
as the galley shot away down stream. The truculent 
man of the steps held the rudder, his comrade was at 
stroke. It was a crew of sturdy rogues and the narrow 
light galley leapt from their oars. Raoul sweated. 
The heavy air was hot still and even the spray of the 
oars struck warm, though now the golden circle of the 
moon climbed the sky. Raoul did not love rowing — 
there is no room for enterprise in it — and he saluted 
with a grateful oath the muttered order that bade 
them ease. They were steered into the shadow of 
the steep right bank and there lay waiting, lost in 
darkness, while beyond them the broad river shim- 
mered silver and gold, and the breath of some late 
flowering lime came to them out of the light. 

An island lay framed in midstream. Above the 
shadow of the banks the long, waving grass, the wil- 
lows and elms that murmured to the low night wind 
were gemmed with faint rare splendor, all silvery 
green now, now with a tracery of lavender as the wil- 
low leaves turned, now with a pale cloud of gold. 

“Such nights,” says Raoul, “ever woke the deviltry 
in me.” 

141 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Waiting there in the dark he heard anxious im- 
patient breath of the sturdy rogues about him. He 
protests he was wholly calm. He had most often the 
temper that can wait for providence. 

The clear melody of the lute came over the water 
and a woman’s mellow voice mingled with it joyfully. 
Raoul felt emotion stir in the galley. . . . The song 
came nearer and was broken with the beat and plash 
of oars. Through the gentle light moved a barge 
of gold. The golden canopy that it bore shadowed a 
woman clad in a robe like the moonlight. It was 
Queen Margot singing of hills and the sky. 

Raoul saw enough to approve the heroic pose of 
Don John beside her before the barge slid on to the 
island strand and moored. There was rustle and 
abundant chivalry to help the queen on land. She 
passed amid the blue tree shadows with Don John 
at her hand. Men and women in the barge were 
busy with baskets and napery. The romance of the 
island was to include a collation. 

The coxswain of the galley muttered something, the 
oars dipped, the galley slid out into the stream. It 
made for the lower end of the island, and as it closed 
to the land Raoul saw the queen and her knight drawn 
near, their faces upturned to the majesty of the sky. 
The oars were shortened, the keel of the galley grated 
142 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


gently. The coxswain and his friend of the stroke 
oar sprang to land. Swift, so swift that a man might 
hardly see it all Don John was beaten, stunned, to the 
ground, the queen gagged and bound and borne away. 
She was tossed aboard. The galley was off down 
stream at speed. 

Raoul saw her by the coxswain’s side, helpless, the 
cords drawn hard into her body. Her white face 
was half hidden behind the gag, but he saw her eyes 
— dark eyes that gleamed with laughter, that took 
Raoul. There was also a rope of pearls. 

The coxswain was standing up and peering through 
the moonlight. From land, from the left bank came 
a low, clear whistle. Horses moved black against 
the light. 

It was time. Raoul made his endeavors and 
caught a noble crab. It took all the way off the galley, 
it swung her half across the stream, it brought the 
bow side rowlocks to the water’s edge. Wrestling 
mightily with his oar while the crew swore at him 
lavishly, Raoul leant upon the gunwale. The water 
came pouring in. He yelled, started up kicked the 
gunwale from him as he dived. That was the end of 
the galley. It filled and sank beneath its crew and 
they were left struggling, spluttering, to swim for their 
fortunes. 


143 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


Queen Margot, bound and helpless, was drawn 
down in the swirl of the boat. Her captor lost her 
altogether. Nor he, perhaps, nor any of the rest 
in that moment of surprise had thought of her. 
Raoul, who had had the advantage of knowing what 
he was going to do, Raoul had gripped her before she 
sunk far and under water he struck out for the right 
bank and safety. While the crew were still splashing 
and shouting to each other in midstream, he reached 
the shadow of the trees, he let his feet down and 
his head up and drew a great breath. The kindly 
gloom made him safe enough. He tilted the helpless 
Queen to her feet. It must have been now — though 
he does not say so — that he made prize of her black 
pearls. Then he was gallant. 

By reason of the gag, you’ll note, she could not have 
swallowed much water, and though she was near 
stifling when her nostrils came to the air again she 
made no dangerous noise. “ You are safe, my queen, ” 
says he in her ear. “You are safe from all now: for I 
am Raoul,” there was mirth in his voice and while 
he was speaking he was slicing her cords with his 
dagger. Then with a whispered: “Silence is life!” 
he had out the gag. She stirred against his shoulder, 
he saw her eyes gleam gay, she moved her limbs 
lightly trying their freedom. Raoul put his arm 
144 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


about her. “ Trust me for all,” said he and held 
her close. Queen Margot made no trouble of that, 
and they stood so breast on breast, the warm water 
swirling about them. A low delectable laugh came 
to Raoul’s ear. 

He took her white face in his hand and turned it to 
his. There was the gayest light of mockery in her 
eyes: “Oh, ’tis a joy men are mad,” said she and 
let her head rest on Raoul’s shoulder. 

The crew of the galley were by no means so happy. 
First, as was natural, they had thought of land and 
the land of their friends, so they struck for the left 
bank. They were not welcome. Horse-men spurr- 
ing to the water opened vials of abuse. 

“Quast! Oh! rot you all for lubbers, where is 
Quast?” That roar drowned all the rest. It came 
from a heavy man, whose hair, whose beard swayed 
tawny in the moonlight. 

“It is De la Marck,” said Raoul. 

“I always thought he would be amusing,” said 
Queen Margot. 

“Will you go and amuse him?” Raoul asked and 
loosed her as De la Marck perfumed the night with 
oaths. 

“You also amuse me,” she said and did not stir. 
He saw in her eyes the pure happiness of a child. 
I 4S 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The unhappy Quast — he was the coxswain — 
emerged from the water. He tried foolishly to explain 
the idiocy of Raoul. He was buffeted back into the 
water. “Where is the woman?” roared De la Marck 
and added an unpleasant threat “Find her for me, 
quick or dead. Else I fling you in with bluestone 
at neck and heels. You knaves, line the banks. Is 
any rascal can dive?” One boasted. De la Marck 
dashed him to the water, too, and bade him get down 
to the galley. The rest, horsemen and damp footmen, 
moved to and fro along the bank searching. 

“ Shall we get out of our bath ?” said Queen Margot. 

Raoul scanned the searchers anxiously. He was 
not in a hurry. Where he stood in the dense shadow 
they were safe enough from eyes in the light. To 
climb the bank was to reach the light themselves, 
and, however wary, a moment they must needs stand 
against it black and clear. But the searchers were 
gone some way up and down . . . and Queen 

Margot shivered. 

Raoul wormed himself up without a sound and 
lay flat on the bank holding his hands out to his queen. 
She took them, she was drawn up swiftly, safely, 
but she sent a loose stone splashing down. They 
were seen. 

Yells tore the moonlight. One man and another 
146 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


dashed his horse at the stream. The hounds were 
upon them. 

“ ’Tis in such moments,” says Raoul, “that your 
fool betrays himself. ” He was placidly wringing 
the water from Queen Margot’s clothes and praising 
God, I understand, for few petticoats. When they 
were light enough to let her move: “Run now!” 
he muttered, “run!” and pointed her the way. But 
he turned back to the river. 

Already the first of De la Marck’s men was urging 
his horse up the steep bank. The beast scrambled 
and failed and failed again. His rider sprang from 
the saddle and won firm ground himself and was 
tugging at the bridle, when Raoul was upon him 
from the shadow. Down he went, stricken before 
his own sword was out, and Raoul caught the bridle 
from him in time to steady the plunging horse and 
win it to land. Now more of De la Marck’s men 
were ashore and the tawny haired Sea Boar himself, 
but Raoul vaulted to the saddle and was off over the 
lucerne to his queen. 

She waited, holding up her arms to him while her 
wet dress clung close, a form of strange loveliness in 
the mellow moonlight. She was ready. He had 
hardly checked before her foot was on his, before 
she had sprung up behind him and was safe with her 
147 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


arm locked about his body. Then they were off at 
speed. . . . 

Raoul turned to see De la Marck’s ordering of the 
chase and found the eyes of his queen. They laughed 
to him and he lifted up his voice: “ Raoul! A 
queen for Raoul to wear — Raoul !” 

De la Marck made him an answer in no way fit for 
a queen to hear and the chase quickened. Raoul 
was no great matter in weight, nor she, I think, and 
the broad Flanders mare was not troubled. Through 
the wattle fences she broke and held her heavy gallop 
over meadow and barley undriven. De la Marck’s 
men with horses of her own blood gained nothing upon 
her. But the Sea Boar himself, more royally mounted, 
was closing fast. . . . Looking back Raoul saw 

the foam flecks on him and the red whirl of his beard, 
saw him reach for his sword. . . . Queen Mar- 

got’s breath broke gasping and Raoul felt all her body 
thrill. The passion of the hunt was upon her, the 
quarry’s yearning and fear. Raoul bent back his 
head and brushed her cheek, her lips with his. She 
clung the closer. . . . 

But no emotion dazzled Raoul’s wary brain. It 
was not in him to earn bliss by forgetting all else. 
His own skin interested him as much as his queen. 
So you see him edging craftily away to the river bank. 

148 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


When the gleam of the water was close, he checked, 
he made Queen Margot loose him, he slid to the 
ground, leaving the reins across her arms. The 
mare’s back was wide and the sister of Charles IX 
had cavalier’s skill enough to stay there. But the 
mare went on as she chose. 

“ Now mark my work, ” says Raoul. It was mighty 
near his end: for De la Marck was upon him like 
the wind and he hardly flung himself out of the 
swing of that terrible sword. But as he bounded 
away he struck a sweeping back hand stroke and all 
his blade jarred upon De la Marck’s leg and his 
horse’s side. It was a stroke of no art, but it wrought 
abundantly. The searing pain maddened the horse: 
De la Marck’s sinews were shorn through and he 
reeled out of the saddle. 

“In all the which,” says Raoul, “there is nothing. 
What follows marks the man of mind.” He caught 
De la Marck by the leg and whirled him into the river 
before he caught the horse and upon it pursued his 
queen. So that De la Marck’s men when they had 
him almost in their teeth must needs halt and turn 
aside to fish for their leader. 

But the fact is Raoul was, in this last matter, some- 
thing superfluous. He had only drawn level with 
Queen Margot when he made out horsemen in front, 
149 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


a network of them flung wide over the meadows. 
“It seems, sir, that many men want me to-night, ” 
quoth Queen Margot. 

“ ’Tis for you to say who deserves you,” said 
Raoul modestly: but he was puckering his eyes to 
peer ahead. 

“There are many, I thank the Virgin,” said she. 

“But it is I — ” Raoul turned to her — “it is I who 
have the honor to tell my queen she is safe.” 

“Sir, I have never in my life doubted it.” 

Raoul was something disconcerted. “It is not 
everyone who has a taste for the Sea Boar,” he 
growled. 

Queen Margot laughed. “I do not think you un- 
derstand me very much, sir. Oh, but it is amus- 
ing to be a woman. Tell me, who are these gentle- 
men in such a hurry.” For now the net of horsemen 
was closing swift upon them. 

“They are Aerschot’s Walloons. And Don John 
must have a harder head than I thought. ” 

It was Don John who came at them headlong, 
crying from afar to the Queen in a score of questions. 
“Oh, believe me safe,” said she calmly as he reined 
up with a miracle of horsemanship at her side, “be- 
lieve me safe and almost dry. For all which I thank 
this cavalier.” 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


Raoul saluted Don John magnificently. “He 
shall be my brother in arms,” cried Don John. “I 
will reward him with the half of my possessions.” 

“Nay, sir, ’tis only I can pay the price of my- 
self.” 

Raoul thanked her little for that; but he tried to 
look chivalric. Don John bowed. “My queen is 
royal in every thought,” said he. “Now I pray you 
have you a guess at these villains?” 

“Never one,” said the queen quickly and frowned 
at Raoul’s open mouth and pressed his foot with hers. 
“Nor can I tell their purpose.” 

“Nay, my queen, ’tis your heavenly self that makes 
men mad. Yet, God assoil us all, madmen must be 
slain.” 

“I profess,” says Raoul, “I do not know them 
from the dead. ” 

“Ah! And you, sir, how had you the great good 
fortune to serve her majesty?” 

Raoul was ready: “You must know, sir, that 
I have the felicity to be a poet. I find the moon and 
a river cheering to my inventions. I was consorting 
with them both when I beheld the first tragic act of 
this adventure which I have had the honor to turn to a 
romance. ” 

“By Sant’ Iago, I envy you as much as I am your 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


debtor, ” cried Don John. “Now must I scourge 
these knaves.” And he spurred on with his com- 
pany. 

But De la Marck’s men did not wait him. So 
much they had bungled that night that they had no 
lust to try more. Even those who had gone down 
to the water to haul their master out leapt to their 
horses and fled. De la Marck was left struggling and 
splashing helpless against the steep bank. 

“Have they saved him?” said Queen Margot to 
Raoul as they two peered through the failing moon- 
light at the chase. 

“They are kinder,” said Raoul. “They let him 
drown. Don John would let him hang.” 

“ Oh, but it is altogether joyous, ” cried the Queen. 
Raoul shrugged. “Now go you and save him,” 
said she. An exclamation (no matter) was startled 
out of Raoul, but she had turned her clumsy horse al- 
ready and was making for the river. . . . But in 

the gloom — for now the moon was all but set — she 
needed Raoul’s trained eye to point her out the place 
where De la Marck clung painfully to the bank. 
“Since you like him there he is,” Raoul growled. 

“ Bring him me, ” said the queen. 

And Raoul went, wondering at her and himself 
and all the earth. . . . Over the river he bent and 
152 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


gripped De la Marck’s wrists. From the tangle of 
wet tawny hair grey eyes glared at him. 

“I am bidden haul you out,” said Raoul. 
“ Whether to hang or live God knows and a woman 
who is not at all like Him. Will you stand the 
chance?” 

“Haul,” quoth De la Marck, bidding him also go 
some whither. 

“It may well be damnation to save you,” said 
Raoul and hauled. It was sturdy labor, but in a while 
he had De la Marck on dry ground, kneeling. The 
man could not stand alone. With Raoul for a crutch 
painfully he made his way to the queen. She smiled 
down at him, he glowered at her with more of wonder 
than hate. “Sink me, but you are a witch,” said he. 

“What else did you want?” she laughed. 

Now a party of Don John’s horsemen were spurr- 
ing back to her. “By your royal leave,” cried the 
captain, “ Don John bids me give your majesty escort 
to Namur.” Raoul shadowed De la Marck behind 
him. 

“It is well, sir,” said the queen. “I am your 
master’s debtor. Now I pray you, lend me your 
cloak.” 

He did it off with alacrity and was making to put it 
about her but she held it off and gave it to Raoul. 
153 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


He had De la Marck muffled in it swiftly. “What,” 
cried the captain, “your majesty had two men?” 

“Both have served me well to-night,” said Queen 
Margot, smiling; “and one -” 

“Without this honest gentleman,” Raoul explained, 
“I could not have had the honor to save her majesty. ” 
De la Marck, who could not stand without him, far 
less move or strike, grated his teeth in impotent wrath. 

“And now he is sore hurt by reason of his devo- 
tion,” Raoul sighed. 

“A man would be lucky to die for such a cause,” 
cried the captain. 

“And perhaps he may do so yet,” said Raoul 
blandly. “Who knows?” 

“Can he ride or must he be carried?” 

“Why, he might go pillion behind me if my queen 
could go alone.” 

His queen, who sat in the man’s saddle in graceful 
ease, laughed gay. “I will follow you where you can 
ride, Sir Poet of the Moon.” 

So through the last of the night, a strange company, 
they came back to Namur. Behind and before went 
Don John’s horsemen and Raoul watched his queen, 
slim and lithe, as she swayed to the cumbrous trot of 
the Flanders mare. Sometimes she laughed to her- 
self. She gave Raoul no chance of a word with her. 
x 54 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


When he began to draw close she sent her mare on 
beside Don John’s captain. And Raoul with De la 
Marck’s arm gripped about his body, with De la 
Marck’s oaths hot in his ears, began to feel that he did 
not dominate the situation and was uncomfortable. 

“ Split and sink you,” De la Marck growled, “what 
is your wench after?” 

“If I knew — well, I might be more uncomfortable 
than I am,” quoth Raoul. 

“Then,” and De la Marck expressed an uncomely 
desire, “ why must you be meddling ? As fine a ploy as 
ever I laid. Heaven, if once I had the wench afloat!” 

“Do you know,” says Raoul, “I would back her 
against you, as like a boar as you are. ” 

De la Marck swore extravagantly. 

Into the deeper gloom of the town they came and 
on to the queen’s lodging. Her people ran out with 
lights. Swiftly she slipped to the ground and in, then 
with one foot already on the stairs turned to look for 
Raoul, who hesitated. “Nay, come,” she cried, “I 
do not part with you so lightly. Francois,” she 
beckoned her chamberlain to her and spoke a moment 
with him unheard, then aloud, “look to them well, 
Francois.” 

It seems to have been now that Raoul remembered 
he had her pearls in his pocket. 

11 155 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The situation was full of difficulty. If he were to 
plunge at her and present the pearls in a chivalric 
manner, he would, in the first place, lose the pearls and 
in the second might lose his head, if she suspected 
how he had come by them. If he made a dash for the 
door to remove pearls and himself he was like to be 
prevented and, if it came to a fight, stuck on the hal- 
berts of her gentlemen at arms or on the swords of 
Don John’s horsemen without. But if he gave him- 
self calmly to the hands of her chamberlain for care 
and lodging the pearls might be found upon him — • 
nay, faith, why was the queen so zealous about him, 
if she suspected nothing? There were in fact a 
thousand reasons against whatever he might do. 
He chose to wait upon fate. He smiled blandly to 
the chamberlain and kept the pearls in his pocket and 
followed where he was led. He never gave up in a 
hurry. 

Two serving men conveyed De la Marck after him. 
They were given twin rooms off one corridor and Raoul 
found his the most sumptuous he had ever seen. He 
had only a moment to finger the silver ewers and the 
peach-hued velvet of the walls, to sniff at the sandal 
wood, before there broke on him “a damnable visita- 
tion of lackeys*” First it was two with a collation — 
then three with a bath. Raoul suffered. He was shy 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


of their zeal to assist in his bathing, but he dared not 
deny them lest they take him for a churl unused to the 
ways of nobility. So, most unhappy, he endured the 
person who wrought over his adequate little body with 
Neapolitan soap, and that other who poured over him 
water now hot now icy cold, and he let them roll 
him in much linen and pummel him politely. But 
when one was for anointing him with perfumed oil he 
smote without mercy. Then they prayed his pardon 
and offered him a choice of a dozen perfumes till he 
obsecrated them all earnestly. At last he got them out 
and himself to bed with the pearls under his pillow. 
What he said to the man who came thereafter with a 
sleeping posset is best left in its original language. 

He slept till long after noon and waking in the heat 
with all the bed clothes flung from him gripped ner- 
vously after his pearls. They were safe still. . . . 

He tried to consider his case. . . . But for some 

while all he could think of was De la Marck suffering 
from processions of lackeys. That cheered him. 
. . . He got out of bed with his pearls, admitted 

the sunlight, and in it debated more solemnly. 
‘‘She is plainly a devil,” said he, “and full of quips. 
. . . ” Suddenly, he bethought him of doing what 

De la Marck had tried. Raoul with a queen to wear. 
. . . The vision allured him . . . since she 

I S7 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


was a woman who warmed his blood. ... A 
queen to wife. ... It was true she had a hus- 
band or so already. ... He had no doubt he 
could make her forget them. ... He had already 
found himself unique. . . . And the lackeys came 

with the bath. 

He was fed, he was dressed again in his river-stained 
clothes, he had the pearls still safe in his pocket when 
the chamberlain came to say that the queen desired his 
aid. He followed with alacrity. But in the light 
room to which he was brought there was only De la 
Marck at rest on a couch. Raoul wished him good 
day and two legs again. 

De la Marck swore: “And will you tell me what 
this fooling means?” 

“Doubtless,” said Raoul, regarding him blandly, 
“her majesty wishes to convert you to the domestic 
virtues and marry you with her maid.” 

In the midst of another explosion Queen Margot 
came in. She, too, wore the river-stained clothes of 
the night, her black hair was in the night’s disarray, 
with tresses falling from their bonds about her neck. 
She made them a curtsey, smiling. “I am your 
debtor for as happy a night as I have known,” said 
she. “And now I am come for you to tell me what 
you hoped of me.” Wonder grew in De la Marck’s 

158 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


fierce eyes. “O M. de la Marck,” she cried, “it 
was a glad plan of yours for me. But what did you 
want by it?” 

“What does a man want of a woman,” he growled 
and his eyes glittered, “such a woman as you?” 

She sat down, rested her elbow on her knee and her 
round chin on one finger, and gazed at him intently. 
“ There are men who want money — or a move in poli- 
tics — and my body is worth a ransom.” 

“ No ransom would have saved it if I had won you, ” 
cried De la Marck with an oath. “Sink me, you 
would not have tired me soon.” 

Her grave eyes did not flinch from him. No shade 
of blood stirred in her white cheek. “So,” she said 
quietly, and again, “ So. . . . Well, it is best as it is, 

M. de la Marck, for indeed I should soon have tired 
of you.” 

“Enough of your jests,” cried De la Marck, with 
an oath. “What do you mean to do with me?” 

She lay back in her chair. She shrugged, and her 
eyes wandered away from him: “The fact is, M. de 
la Marck, you are much more interested in yourself 
than I am.” 

“Well,” De la Marck stammered, something 
abashed, “well — I mean — if I am to be hanged, hang 
me, and have done with this curst kitten’s playing. ” 
I S9 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“Hang you? No, indeed. You have been much 
too amusing. I will let you go when you please. ” 

“Ay, and what of my men? How many did your 
dandy, Don John, ride down?” 

“ There are three, I heard, — or two, I took no heed. ” 

“No, sink me, but I do. Shall I go loose and 
leave my men to be flayed? That is not the Sea 
Boar’s way. A bargain with you, Queen Margot! 
Do what you will with me and send them scatheless. 
It was my ploy and my blunder and I pay.” 

She rose from her chair, she came up to his couch and 
looked down at him with something of tenderness: 
“Is there a little in you that rings clear?” she said. 

“Curse your phrases,” growled De la Marck. 

“Take the men with you,” she said. 

“You’ll save them?” he cried. She held out her 
hand. He gripped it and looking up at her with eyes 
aglow snatched her down to him and grasping her 
upon his breast kissed her breathless. Raoul was at 
him, gripping at his throat, and he let her go. She 
rose, calm still, though her outraged cheeks were red. 

“ So I’ve had an earnest of you,” cried De la Marck, 
his eyes ugly and eager still. 

“Let him go,” she said to Raoul quietly. “There 
is nothing in him that matters.” She clapped her 
hands for the lackeys. “I wonder if you will always 
160 


BAOUL’S QUEEN 


think that was worth while, M. de la March?” But 
De la Marck chuckled. “And I might have had 
some honor for you, ” she said almost sadly as she 
turned away. Then the servants came and De la 
Marck was borne out. 

“Brrrr!” with a shiver and a sound as if she had 
met a cold wind she turned upon Raoul: “I hope 
you will be more amusing, Raoul,” and she laughed 
at him. His attitude was perhaps terrifically heroic. 

“What amuses your majesty in a man?” 

“His manhood,” said she. 

“I believe you are as much a woman as I am a 
man. My homage. It is an achievement.” 

“And what achievement does M. Raoul desire on 
this earth?” 

“To be altogether Raoul — all that Raoul can be.” 

“He will want a woman to help him.” 

“My queen, I have never doubted it,” said Raoul, 
bold-eyed upon her. 

She smiled. “You will tell me the whole true 
story,” said she, and nestled cosily down upon a 
couch. “Who are you? How came you in De la 
Marck’s boat?” 

“I begin at the beginning — which is frankly the 
gutter — ” said Raoul, nothing loth, and he gave in 
high color the story of his crowded years and she 
161 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


watched him with shining eyes of laughter. He was 
some time in reaching Namur and his amusements of 
the night. “Then, my queen, with you damnably 
bound in the boat I devised a hundred deeds ” 

“Why?” For the first time she broke in. “What 
did you hope of me? Why did you strike for me?” 

“For the fight of your eyes, my queen! For the 
throb of a perilous venture.” 

“How fair that sounds!” she said softly and 
stretched out her arms with the famed white hands 
clasped. “Praise God for a man! How fair that 
sounds! ” The fight in her eyes changed and glowed 
for him. . . . 

Raoul was ill at ease. He took a new, grand pose. 
“And the rest of the story you know,” he ended 
baldly. 

She leant towards him. “What can a woman give 
you, Raoul?” she said softly. “Ah, men serve us 
always and we — surely in men is the true romance!” 

Raoul muttered something and drew away from 
her. Then he thrust his hand in his bosom and 
drew out the pearls and forced them into her hands. 
“There were these, too,” he growled. 

She started up, her eyes all glistening, all of her 
throbbing with fife. “You have conquered,” she 
cried and her voice was glad. “ You have conquered.” 

162 


RAOUL’S QUEEN 


But Raoul fidgeted and his face was flushed, and 
he talked curses at himself: “You knew it!” he 
broke out. “You were playing with me!” 

“Is it ill, is it ill, then, to have the truth? I cared 
enough for you to hate your lie. I knew there was 
more manhood in you than you have let live. Good 
morrow, Raoul,” she swept him a curtsy, “this is 
your birthday. ” Raoul bit his lips. He was strangely 
moved. He fancied that her eyes glistened, too. 

“And for these,” she let the great black pearls 
shimmer through her fingers, “I will keep them for 
the woman you win to love you.” She waited then, 
finger on lip, her eyes grave, watching him. “And 
my part — ” she murmured — “my part — ” then she 
was gone. 

Raoul was the prey of new emotions. . . . For 

the first time in his life there was some pleasure in 
shame. For the first time all his deeds looked small 
and his strength surged in him greedy of a venture of 
despair. He yearned to fight and win by his fall. 
His soul was waked to a new, a swifter life. . . . 

Some one bade him to the queen again and he 
followed, dreaming still. 

Her chamber was glittering with light. On a couch 
of black velvet she lay robed in white. Her hair was 
braided with pearls and over the broad, white brow a 
163 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


diamond glistened amid the close black waves. Her 
bare arms moved across a golden lute, the red lips 
parted and she sang. 

It was a ballad of old France and her chivalry, of 
the love that conquers in death. But Raoul hardly 
knew of the words. The mellow voice rang to him 
of the truth of life, of faith and hope unguessed and 
the sway and surge of the forces that have no names. 
. . . The last notes faded. She rose and he 
saw her, with a filmy white cloud swaying about her, 
and the famed loveliness of her close clad in white. 
She began to dance. Through the light, in strength 
and grace her body swayed, lavishing all its charm 
for him. He saw the splendor of her dark eyes, the 
little, full, red lips in a strange smile that challenged 
soul and brain, the white wave of her bosom throbbed 
for him. • . . Womanhood called. . . 

She was still. The cloud fell about her again. 
She held out her bare arms. Raoul came forward 
and grasped her hands and looked at her long. Then, 
holding her hands still he bowed over them and so 
stood awhile. 

Then he went out to the night. The summer sky 
was cloaked in cloud but everywhere shone a pale, 
soft fight. 


164 


CHAPTER VII 


raoul’s dinner 

I N the year of the great flood, when dykes failed 
beneath a northern storm and Holland was near 
lost, it was Dirck Santvoort who found Raoul 
swimming between a cradle and a coffin and saved 
him, Dirck Santvoort of Flushing. Raoul and he, 
not the likeliest pair, struck friends in his cock- 
boat and stayed so. They met seldom and liked 
each other the better. Half a dozen years after, 
when Raoul came into Flushing from a dolorous 
passage of the North Sea and distressed with two 
days and a night on a hoy whereof the food was 
sodden cockroaches, he sought out Santvoort for a 
dinner. 

Dirck Santvoort was a herring merchant and, as 
happens often yet in a fishing town, money lender, 
too. Also he made ropes and by one trade or another 
flourished. His house on the quay was opulent and 
when Raoul, after a deal of hammering, won inside, 
he found the hall very splendid with polished pewter 

*65 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


and blue china platters against the dark oak. The 
servants did not much approve Raoul. A man 
who let him in hovered about him doubtfully instead 
of going swiftly as he was bidden to Mynheer Sant- 
voort: retreating at last under stress of oaths, he 
brought no mynheer but a sour woman of the house- 
keeper kind: and she told Raoul mynheer had no 
leisure for guests. 

“Beldame!” cried Raoul, whose stomach was 
angry, “beldame of hell, tell him Raoul has come to 
him, little Raoul of the flood.” 

Dirck Santvoort came at last, a broad man of 
deliberate eyes. “It is a good day for my house 
when you come,” said he with his hand out. “Wel- 
come, my friend.” 

Raoul slapped his shoulder amicably. I think 
that he really liked the man. He spent some minutes 
in politeness and was answered absently. Then, 
“You do not know how empty I am,” said he with 
some pathos. 

Santvoort was a minute or two in understanding 
him. “It is a shame to my house that you should 
say so,” he said at length and called for the sour 
woman and gave orders whereat Raoul smacked his 
lips. He turned to Raoul again: “And how is 
all with you?” 


1 66 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


“ Infinitely well — save for the stomach. And you — 
how go the herrings ?” 

“It is a good season,” said Santvoort. “There 
is a matter that presses — may I leave you? Use 
my house as it were your own.” 

“You are the best fellow in the world,” said Raoul 
with enthusiasm sniffing at a dish of pickled neat’s 
tongue. “And I were the worst if I hindered you. 
Away!” 

Santvoort bowed gravely and went. If Raoul’s 
stomach had been less importunate he might have 
seen that the man was ill at ease. . . . Yet 

more plainly troubled he was when he came again. 
But Raoul, hard at work with a stew of eels, nodded 
at him and drank to him and saw nothing. “You 
will pardon me that I am so bad a host, but there is 
an affair — a — a matter instant with me. I — if you 
will pardon me ” 

“I would pardon the devil for such eels,” quoth 
Raoul. 

“And here is my honorable friend Mynheer Gabri- 
ello Hawkins to serve you in my stead.” 

It was the Gabriello Hawkins who waked Raoul’s 
thoughts from his eels. The mere name was savory 
— and the man himself was immensely like an eel — 
an eel with moustachios. Of great length and little 
167 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


breadth, with hair and a small face like ruddy brick, 
Gabriello Hawkins most allured the eye by those 
moustachios. In two long peninsulas waving tri- 
umphant at their extremities they stretched beyond 
his cheeks, bright and amazing. 

Gabriello Hawkins manipulated his length in a 
flamboyant bow. “Salutations, amigo. A friend’s 
friends are Gabriello’s brothers, by Pollux.” 

Raoul stared. The Roman oath was new to him. 
But he liked the twinkle of those moustachios. 

“ Brother in wine is brother in arms,” said he and 
he drained his glass to Gabriello. 

Gabriello filled in turn — it was “the good, lustful 
Burgundy” Raoul loved — and drank and smacked 
his lips. “’Tis the Falernian of Christians,” he said 
and filled again. “Verily corlatificat hominum. Aha ! ” 
Then suddenly his back bent, his moustachios turned 
downward, he was an image of grief. He looked 
round for Dirck Santvoort, who had gone out. Then 
he cheered up. 

Raoul, to whom his conversation and his manners 
were alike Hebrew, devoted himself wholly to the 
eels till there were no more. 

“My affections yearn for you when I see you eat,” 
Gabriello Hawkins informed him. “Something now 
of this mutton pasty. They have a way of it with 
1 68 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


thyme and a dream of garlic. Basta! But I envy 
you the void there must have been in you — an empti- 
ness of Jove — an Olympian hunger.” 

Raoul who had a doubt that Gabriello was laughing 
at him grunted uncomfortably. “Make a bite your- 
self,” said he. “It’s dull talk between feeding and 
fasting.” 

“ Meherclel No! This is no hour for my poor 
carcass to make merry. But charge you the victuals 
home, my adelphidion. By Silenus’s ass it titillates 
my heart beat to see a man let his body go.” 

“I think I live faster than other men,” said Raoul, 
filling Gabriello’s cup and his own, “so ” 

“So your immortal body — for mark you if you be 
a Christian that body of yours will dance with you in 
heaven — your immortal body craves a double wage 
of mortal goods. By Olympus, it is rightly and 
duly done. Your well fed body uplifts the soul to 
utter righteousness,” and pensively Gabriello made 
an end of his wine. Then he sighed deeply and 
shook his head. 

Raoul, who had come as far as pickled cherries 
by this, was now full enough to pay him more atten- 
tion. Raoul blinked at him with humor and filled 
his own cup and bowed to him dramatically: “Sir, 
do me honor,” and he lifted the wine. 

169 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Gabriello bowed, but shook his head and sighed 
again. 

“Faith, you are a melancholy host,” said Raoul. 

“Who, I? Must sacred hospitality cry shame on 
Gabriello ? Fratercule mi y I am rebuked. Give 
me the bottle.” He drained a bumper scientifically. 
“Ho! More wine here. Why, mother Lotta, do 
you stint the guest of my heart?” 

Shamefastly, as one who liked grudging but little, 
and yet grumbling to herself, the sour faced woman 
brought them a basket’s load of flasks and then 
rustled out, disapproval visible in her back, audible 
in her walk. 

Gabriello looked after her with some timidity, then 
back at Raoul, then drank another cup and, gripping 
them in both hands, whirled his moustachios magnifi- 
ciently. 

“To the host and the house and the cellar,” quoth 
Raoul filling again. 

“Hold, my adulescent, hold. I challenge your 
friendship. That calls for three bumpers at least.” 

“Have with you,” cried Raoul. “ Diantre , but 
it is a noble liquor.” He held it to the light. “ There 
the dark glow of very lust in it, mordieu!” 

“’Tis the very blood of joy. Again, my neophyte. 
Now with a long breath — sa ha, sa ha! Nunc vino 
170 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


^ellite curas” they clashed their glasses and drank 
again, “now sink your woes in wine. To-morrow’s 
time enough to face life’s storm again. Again, my 
juvenile, and again! I do profess and protest you 
take me marvelously.” 

“I admire you to a degree,” cried Raoul. “There- 
fore, my well-beloved, give me that other bottle.” 

“Unto the last in my cellar, my fair brother. Oh, 
it is not my cellar. No matter. It is Dirck Sant- 
voort’s and the same is a right good fellow who knows 
thirst himself.” 

“He is the best fellow in the world,” Raoul called 
out. “Signor Gabriello he saved my very life, my 
whole life, mark you.” 

“Noble soul!” cried Gabriello quivering with 
emotion. “To Dirck — not less than a bottle to 
Dirck — ” and from Dutch he relapsed to English 
“with a down derry, derry derry down.” 

“ Down derry, down derry down,” Raoul chorused 
waving his cup. “But look you, mark you, you 
have not heard all. I had a coffin and a cradle 
withal and he saved the whole sinking trinity.” 

Gabriello wiped away a tear. “I protest I do not 
understand you the least, but you affect me extremely. 
Fratercule! a bumper again for Dirck and many 
cradles for him. Nor ever a coffin withal.” 

171 


12 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul drank and smacked his lips and drank again. 
Then he gave a stentorian sigh. “Death,” says he, 
“is the common lot.” 

“Hard lot,” Gabriello echoed. They looked at 
each other and shook their heads and sighed again. 
“Nay, then, a song to gladden life,” cried Gabriello 
and struck up: 

“ I love no roast, but a nut brown toast and a crab laid in the 
fire, 

A little bread shall do me stead! (Much bread I do not desire!) 
Nor frost, nor snow, no wind, I trow, can hurt me if it would, 

I am so wrapped and thoroughly lapped of jolly good wine and 
old. 

“O back and side, go bare! go bare! 

Both hand and foot go cold, 

But belly, God send thee good wine enow 
Whether it be new or old! 

Raoul came into the chorus with his broken English 
mightily. Then they made their breath good with 
another bottle. . . . 

“Aha, my dearest adelphidion, nunc est bibendum — 
which is as if you should say, liquor up, uncle Gabri- 
ello. Nunc pede libero pulsanda tellus — I would 
bid you shake a leg, dear child — sol” He arose, 
straightened his lean length in sections, and holding 
a brimming cup, began to contort his yards of legs 
172 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


in weird elaborations. Then cheerily out of tune 
he sang: 

“ I mun be married a Sunday 
I mun be married a Sunday 
Whosoever shall come that way 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

“ Roister Doister is my name 
Roister Doister is my name 
A lusty brute I am the same 
I mun be married a Sunday.” 

Raoul heaved out of his seat and linked arms and, 
together, waving cups that splashed, they curvetted 
down the hall, long man and short flinging wild legs 
and roaring: 

“ I mun be married a Sunday 
I mun be married a Sunday 
I mun ” 

The woman who presented herself was she of the 
sour face. A face so grim, so bitterly sour that the 
song broke in their wet gullets, that their limbs 
stiffened ludicrously. “ Mynheer Hawkins!” (Raoul 
records that her voice was like a blunt razor.) “ What 
is this beastliness? Can you not remember that 
this house is mourning?” 

Gabriello straightened himself, parted from Raoul 
and so stood a moment. Then he struck his brow 
I 73 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


and clutched it, then he crashed his wine cup to the 
ground and stamped upon it, then he beat a tattoo 
on his breast. “’Tis a most just censure, Lotta,” 
he groaned. “I am a beast. I am a fatted calf.” 

Raoul gazed in a vinous stupor at so alarming a 
comparison. Lotta sniffed disdain. “I will have 
no more of this here,” said she and her pattens 
clattered out. Raoul gaped after her. 

But Gabriello sank limp to a chair and there sat, 
an image of repentant sin, wobbling his head a 
little. Raoul came to him and slapped him on the 
shoulder and looked at him (as I guess) with intense 
solemnity. “My — dear — old — friend,” says he with 
painful clearness, “what’s the matter with the old 
woman?” 

Gabriello shook his head, smote his breast again, 
then clapped his hand on Raoul’s and looked up as 
sentimental as a dog that has been kicked. “Alack, 
my juvenile, I am a boor and a boar and a roaring 
ram and a fatted calf and I have made you one, too. 
Be the infamy mine. O ingenui vultus puer ” 

“Oh, the devil,” said Raoul and dropped down 
in a chair beside him. “What the devil! I know 
you are drunk. And why should not a cavalier be 
drunk? I would get drunk myself if I did not get 
too sleepy. But rat me if I am a ram for it.” 

*74 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


“Nay, my adelphidion, I do not blame you. You 
are innocent as Herod’s babes. But look you, we 
have made revelry upon a coffin. We have guzzled 
in an open grave. Even as in the fable — bah, I 
babble.” 

“It is water you want, mordieu ,” cried Raoul. 

“Very right, my juvenile,” Gabriello swayed to 
his feet, made one stride at the table, took the full 
ewer and poured the whole of its water over his head. 
He shook himself like a dog, he drew a long breath, 
he slapped his chest. “Hear ten plain words frater- 
cule: the goodly son of this house, the dear brother 
of our most laudable friend Dirck Santvoort is in 
Spanish durance. The meridional vampires will 
do him to death save and except there be a ransom 
of five thousand gold florins ” 

“Five thousand gold devils,” cried Raoul, for it 
was the ransom of a king. 

“And our most goodly Santvoort hath no means 
withal and already he mourns as for the dead. The 
house is lapped and wrapped in gloom. And we 
must needs bring our boorish mirth upon his sorrow!” 

Raoul with much deliberation put down his wine 
cup and stared at it sternly. “I dislike myself 
excessively,” he said. The thing hit home at him. 
If you do not see that he was intensely respectable 

I 7S 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


you do not understand Raoul. To be merry in the 
house of a friend’s mourning was a sin that he ranked 
with the blackest. The thought of it sobered him 
like a bath of ice. He turned from severe contem- 
plation of the wine cup, his companion in iniquity, 
and arose. 

Gabriello Hawkins woke as from a reverie with 
one hand clenched about one moustachio : “ Whither, 

O my brother?” 

“To Santvoort. To proffer my remorseful regret, 
my help,” and he made for the inner door. 

Gabriello stared. Slowly his hand unclasped from 
his moustachios. He smote his head violently and 
so exhorted himself: “Up, Gabriello, up! Shall 
a babe outdo thee, thou old man of war?” He went 
out with a curious, swift, purposeful swagger. A 
moment after there came to the empty hall from the 
street a whistle of complex harmonies. Then an 
answer. 

In the narrow corridor behind the hall Raoul came 
upon the sour faced Lotta. She eyed him as you 
might a prowling thief: “What now?” she snapped. 

“Your master, good dame.” 

“He has no leisure for sots.” 

“Nor I, mordieu. Which way, good dame?” 

“What is your business?” says she, inflexible 
176 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


and something curious withal. But Dirck Santvoort 
himself came by. 

“Santvoort — the time for two words with you!” 
cried Raoul, and the Dutchman, his wide face some- 
thing troubled, his eyes seeing, but grave upon other 
matters, pointed on to an open door. It brought 
them to his office, a tiny room smelling of the hemp 
he spun. Santvoort sat down heavily at his desk, 
punctiliously set a chair for Raoul, fidgetted with his 
papers and looked up again wearily. “Santvoort, 
I cry you pardon,” quoth Raoul. “I am humbled 
before you as a boor,” and he made an attitude far 
from humble. 

“I do not know what you mean,” said Santvoort and 
seemed to care little, either. 

“It is this, my friend. I have come upon you in 
your sorrow — but mordieu , it was too kindly a friend- 
ship that kept it hidden from me — and have made 
in it a boor’s debauch. Your pardon — a friend’s 
pardon. Now tell me your case and I — well, I say 
nothing of myself, but it is not vainly I am called, 
4 Raoul de Tout de Monde.’ ” And his new attitude 
was better than the first. 

Santvoort, who was not the man to trust him more 
for that, only looked dull. 

Raoul was beginning anew, when in with a whirl 

177 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


came a woman of silvery hair and a maiden that clung 
to her. “Dirck! They say now he is to die in the 
morning.” 

“I know, mother,” Santvoort groaned. He thrust 
his fingers through his short, yellow hair and looked 
from one woman to the other. RaouPs eyes — Raoul, 
who was very like a jackdaw, had no notion of going 
— RaouPs eyes followed his. There was no doubt 
of Vrouw Santvoort’s motherhood. The width of 
body and heavy face, the solemn eyes came to her 
son from her. But the girl with her was plainly 
of another blood. For all the full round curves of 
her she was slight: the hair close drawn beneath her 
coif was crisp and black: her eyes glistened dark. 
It was she who took the word : “ Dirck, the Spaniards 
sent to me ” 

“To you, Marie?” Santvoort’s grey face flushed. 
“And why to you?” 

The girl flushed, too. “Because we — because I 
— because they have heard of him and me,” she said 
in a low voice. Santvoort leant his head on his hand. 
“Ah, yes,” she went on eagerly, “and Don Pedro 
says that for seven thousand florins he may be ran- 
somed yet.” Dirck Santvoort made a gesture of 
despair. “Oh, Dirck, but my father promises to 
lend you the two thousand, I begged of him and he 
i 7 8 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


promises — and the rest — ah, you must find it, you 
must!” 

“ I cannot, Marie,” Santvoort muttered and sat 
still with his head bowed. 

“Dirck — but he is your brother, and I ” 

“You!” Santvoort echoed. “Oh, yes, I know it 
over well!” His shoulders bent together and the 
whole man seemed to shrink. 

A sob broke from the girl’s storm wrought bosom. 
Raoul saw her face pitiful and terrible. And yet — 
and yet — why, he had seen more grief for a less woe. 
But the mother was staring at Dirck Santvoort with 
horror and no pity. “Dirck,” she cried hoarsely, 
“are you mad or a villain? You have the money, 
I know, all the town knows, you have the money. 
Do you mean to be rich at the cost of your brother’s 
life?” 

Santvoort looked up quickly. “I have not this 
money, nor the half of it. I have offered all I have 
— and the Spaniard would not take it.” 

His mother laughed scorn at him. “ Not five 
thousand florins? What of the fishermen’s moneys? 
What of the adventurers’ ?” 

“They are not mine,” said Santvoort. 

“Whosever they are, they are in your hand. Will 
you not take them for your brother’s life?” 

179 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“It is a trust. I cannot break it,” said Santvoort. 

“ Oh, you are very righteous ! What is that beside 
your brother’s life?” 

“I cannot break trust,” said Santvoort again. 

“ No, it is not that! It is that you cannot part with 
your money. Oh, God, that I should bear such a 
son as you ! Are you human at all ? Will you break 
my heart ? Will you let your brother die for the sake 
of your accursed money?” 

“Ah, Dirck,” the girl’s hands were laced together, 
all her being prayed to him, “you must save him,” 
and in a weak, childish voice, “you must, you 
know.” 

“Again and again I have offered them all I have,” 
cried Santvoort, “the very house and all that is in it, 
I have begged here and there till no one would lend 
more. It is not enough. The villain will not take 
less than his five thousand florins.” 

“Ah, yes and you are well enough pleased,” the 
mother broke out shrill. “It suits you well that 
Christian should die. Oh, I can believe you planned 
it all!” Her eyes were horrible with motherly hate. 
“I know your heart. You covet the maiden who 
loved him, Marie here ” 

“Mevrouw Santvoort!” the girl cried all crimson 
from bosom to brow. 

180 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


“It is too much, mother !” Dirck Santvoort 
cried starting up. 

“Too much? Yes, it is too much for all but a 
villain,” his mother cried in a frenzy. “Oh, you 
have always grudged Christian all that he had. 
You stinted the money for his smallest debts. You 
envied him all I could give. Now you mingle him 
in a plot and betray him to the Spaniards. Now 
you would kill him to have his love to wife. But 
that shall never be at least. Marie, child, that shall 
never be;” she clutched the girl to her fiercely: “swear 
it! Tell the beast so!” 

But the girl only sobbed. 

“Marie!” Dirck Santvoort gasped from white 
lips. 

She lifted her head, her face all strained in a storm 
of cruel doubts — “Oh, give — give all!” she moaned 
feebly, with little passion and little will. 

Santvoort flung out his hands in a gesture of help- 
lessness. 

“Ah, come away, Marie,” his mother cried. “We 
will beg from house to house, we will raise the town 
upon him for the villain that he is. Come, child, 
come,” and with one last look of hate at her son she 
turned and dragged the girl away. 

Santvoort dropped to his chair again and bent 
181 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


forward over the table stared at nothing, helpless, 
hopeless. Then Raoul came out of his corner. The 
affair seemed to him villainously obscure. None of 
the actors in it pleased much his peculiar taste. 
But what it seemed good to him to do was to lay his 
hand on Santvoort’s and grip. After the man’s 
surprise faded — he had plainly forgotten Raoul 
altogether — his pleasure was something pathetic. 
“I am not afraid for you in the end of things,” said 
Raoul. “Tell me now in two clear words on what 
charge have the Spaniards taken your brother?” 

“ They say he was plotting against them.” 

“He only in all the city?” said Raoul quickly. 
Santvoort nodded. “Faith, strangely enterprising 
in him — and a strangely mighty ransom, too.” He 
cocked an enquiring eye at Santvoort. “Has the 
Spaniard a grudge peculiar against him or you?” 

“I know not,” Santvoort groaned wearily. “I 
pray you leave me now. Forgive me, I — I have 
many affairs.” 

“I give you good night. May I give you a better 
morning!” quoth Raoul and swung out. 

Then Dirck Santvoort came heavily to his knees. 
He had reason, you will agree. 

Raoul was pensive as he dallied along the quay. 
The affair plainly called him, and yet he had no 
182 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


enthusiasm for it. He was not so stupid as to grudge 
Dirck Santvoort respect, but such a one could not 
charm his swift soul. The mother he liked still less. 
A mother rampant ever gave him a chill. For the 
girl — why the blood was not hot enough in her to 
warm Raoul. As he conceived her duty, she should 
have been in a frenzy of love or hate or both. He 
saw her plainly sane and condemned her for that 
prime vice in woman-— coldness. None of them 
moved him an iota. And yet he itched to be in the 
affair. Its tangle excited him. For a Spaniard to 
sell the lives of citizens — why, that indeed was common 
in Flanders as any other bargain. But why choose 
one man only, and he not of the richest folk in the 
town ? Why so vast a ransom for one ? Then what 
was the truth of it between brother and brother? 
Between the brothers and this chilly girl ? What end 
to it all if Christian were yet saved ? What like was 
this unknown Christian ? Every question of them all 
stirred Raoul. And beside all that, stronger (as I 
believe) than all, was a quaint feeling of duty. He 
had to redeem his character. He was intensely 
annoyed with his vulgar manners. That he, who 
knew how to bear himself with the highest, should 
appear a boor! He must needs do something splendid 
for the sake of his self respect. A strain of the 

183 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Herakles, of the hero of the bourgeois , was dominant 
in him. 

So you find him on that summer night revolving a 
hundred schemes as he wanders above the beach 
toward the citadel. Indeed he had so much in his 
head that Gabriello Hawkins escaped him altogether. 
Gabriello, who in truth mattered much, was moving 
among the loafers on the quay, with swift words 
here and here, and while he spoke men turned and 
made away from him to the narrow dark alleys behind. 
There, too, loafers were gathering. When he saw 
Raoul on the beach walk just below him, Gabriello 
retired with a strange discretion, and from behind 
other men’s backs watched him progress nearer 
and nearer the citadel. “ Diavolo ,” quoth Gab- 
riello, tapping his nose. “Would you fox me, little 
brother? Marry, then, I will out-fox you. He hath 
a modicum of the vulpine, too, thine uncle old Gab- 
riello.” And again he was very busy, and in a while 
there came rolling to him a hairy man of the sea. 
But that is another matter. 

Raoul with his hundred schemes reduced to fifty 
or so came pensive still to the outworks of the citadel. 
It was built close to the shore, small and grey, its 
landward walls stained with lichen. A moat fed 
by sluices from the sea ran all about it. Then, as the 
184 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


sun sank low to landward, the waters of the moat 
ran blood red and the grim light flickered back about 
the base of the towers. The drawbridge was down 
and, around the little fortalice at the bridge head, a 
score or more of the Spanish garrison lounged at 
their ease, unarmed. Some were casting the dice 
upon a drum head and to them came Raoul. “ Three 
guilders to two on the black man’s throw,” says he 
in good enough Spanish as a dark fellow took the 
dice. One and another swore at him Spanish fashion 
lustily. “Faith,” says he with relish, “it’s good to 
hear gentlemen of the sword again. Three to two 
on the black man.” The irate black man turned and 
let drive a blow at him that would have broken his 
rib. Neither the rib nor any other part of Raoul 
received it and the black man over-balanced himself 
uncomfortably. There was more profanity to ask 
who the evasive Raoul was. Raoul explained that 
he was one Pierre Briand, come back from a cam- 
paign with Le Balafre to join Richebourg’s regiment. 
“Basta,” says he, “but it is good to hear a swords- 
man’s oath again after a week on shipboard with 
(unspeakable) civilians. But you break the game 
for me, comrades. Via. Three to two on the throw !” 
It was a vilely rash bet and they took it and he lost 
and was welcome. Before the twilight was heavy 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


he was one of the circle, losing a little more than he 
won and heartily welcome. Then the sunset gun 
boomed from the ramparts. 

Raoul was too profitable a player to be let go easily. 
So with exuberant good fellowship they swore him 
of their company and dragged him into the citadel 
for a merry night with the bones. Before the draw- 
bridge was up Raoul called for a gallon of Xeres 
from the vintner’s at the town end. In fine he was 
welcome to those Spaniards as a bone to a dog. 
And yet I doubt if it cost him very dear. No man 
ever made braver show with less money than 
Raoul. 

You see them, a stalwart, keen little company of 
thieves plying the dice beneath a flickering lantern 
in the courtyard. “Five and the main — Juan, you 
are down! May Asmodeus rack all bones and yours 
withal — there’s for you, twins of the highest. Who 
takes the major? Pass me a swill for my gullet.” 

“Faith,” says Raoul, “life’s gay in the citadel 
of Flushing,” and he looked as stupidly innocent as 
you please. He got not information so much as 
strife. 

“Gay!” says one with the wine in his throat: 
“Well, and so it is!” 

“Gay!” says another. “Tell that to a Catalan 
1 86 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


ass. We be as gay as bears in a pit, stuck here in 
the mud guarding this mud pie of a town.” 

“ Why, but little to do and plenty to drink and some 
good red lips to kiss in the town,” quoth Raoul 
smacking his own lips and winking marvelous like 
a wicked fool. 

But plainly he had gone awry. There was silence 
and then, “Oh, women,” says one with a shrug. 
“ Well, I have known enough to want none.” 

And another broke out: “Kiss quotha! You’ll 
be scratched from hair to hip if you waggle your eye 
at one.” 

You imagine Raoul’s mind mighty pleased with 
itself. He was upon the track. But he looked sore 
puzzled. “Why, what ails the wenches?” said he. 
“You have had no blood letting to scare them in 
Flushing.” 

“They are all for our accursed prisoner,” one 
grumbled, and swore at that prisoner with a zeal 
which did in truth surprise Raoul. 

But of that he showed nothing at all. “What ails 
them at a prisoner or so?” said he with a careless 
shrug and took the dice box again. 

“ The rascal is a martyr, if you please,” one grumbled 
and again came oaths of strange vehemence. 

Raoul, palpitating with curiosity, took no heed 
13 187 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


but sent the wine round and called a new game. 
You need not doubt that he would have had the 
whole story out of those shallow swashbucklers 
with time enough. But a cannon ball past his ear 
cut short the game. 

It was a clean shot through the gateway, and 
with the rending and roar of it came a fiendish din 
in Dutch. Raoul’s Spaniards started up and ran 
all ways, but Raoul stood still gripping at the cause 
of it. Between two men it lay for certain — Dirck 
Santvoort or that “old man of war” Gabriello Haw- 
kins. And they 

Before Raoul’s amazed eyes came Dirck Santvoort’s 
own image. Was it night or the wine or the devil 
that tricked him ? No, by heaven, it was the brother, 
the martyred imprisoned brother. Hark! 

“What is it, Don Pedro?” he was crying. “What 
is it?” 

“San Felipe speed me! It must be an escalade 
of the fat burghers to rescue you, Santvoort. What 
blood to waste for a knave! I could laugh if — ” 
another shot crashed through the gate and the com- 
mandant ran up to the ramparts. Christian Sant- 
voort was close behind him and very close behind 
Santvoort Raoul, like a hound on the trail. The 
Spaniard saw a dangerous sight. 

1 88 


KAOUL’S DINNER 


The truth is that no man in Flanders then knew 
the worth of Gabriello Hawkins. When first he 
drifted into Flushing with some sort of a left hand 
commission from Elizabeth of England and a stronger 
warrant from Diedrich Sonoy, the patriots of the 
town, Dirck Santvoort with the rest, grumbled that 
a mountebank had been sent to help them against 
Spain. Nor for a while could they find he consisted 
of more than a love of drinking and a great love of 
talking. It was only on this night when he hurled 
his thunderbolt that they learnt he had won to him 
all the mass of the people and held their will and 
strength at his order. Gabriello was, indeed, not 
quite ready to strike. His artillery tarried. He had 
smuggled but one demi-saker into the harbor and he 
wanted two. But the affair with Raoul “ accelerated 
his dispositions most thaumastically” (so afterwards 
he declared). He had always hoped, as I take it, 
to fall upon the citadel in time to save Master Chris- 
tian, but with all his flamboyancy he had not the 
temper that spoils a fair enterprise for the sake of 
one man’s life. An hour or two of wine and Raoul 
“ wrought him to rashness.” Rash he was in truth, 
for though there were pikes enough he had but a two 
score of muskets and the one demi-saker with its 
gunner, whom you saw a moment. He was a Jeremy 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Pengelly who had been in the great business at San 
Juan d’Ulloa and I know no better of him than this 
— that he brought up his gun on a cart of herrings 
and had two shots through the main gate before a 
Spaniard saw him. 

“Then was there” (so Gabriello records) “Bata- 
vian pandemonium. For with yells thoracic and 
guttural the neophytes of war fell to: and indifferent 
to steel and muskuetoon they swarmed upon the 
fortalice at the bridge head: and by sheer thrust of 
brawn, yea verily, with tooth and claw they flung the 
Spaniards out upon the moat: yea, and would have 
followed after them, howling most dismally with a 
din of Avernus, and would have snapped at them in 
the dark water as hounds upon the fishy otter but that 
they heard my whistle of command at length sound- 
ing a rally. Yet twice and thrice I had to sound 
withal. For the which presently after I did make 
them a high rebuke of style plusquam-Alexandrine.” 
So eloquently Gabriello. 

That outer fortalice won, and the gate of the citadel 
itself well battered by Jeremy Pengelly, the Dutch- 
men had to the front a pair of rafts (fish-trays buoyed 
on fish boxes they were) and were launching them 
across the moat. From the ramparts the alarmed 
Spaniards made at them a desultory fire. So perilous 
190 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


was the citadel’s case when Don Pedro came upon 
the ramparts. He kept his head. Howling to the 
courtyard for powder, fresh store of powder and ball, 
he ran to the falconets over the drawbridge and 
turned them upon the rafts. Christian Santvoort 
followed after him and after Christian Santvoort 
followed Raoul. And it happened that as Don 
Pedro was busy with his guns, even while he bent 
over the priming, it happened that Raoul stumbled 
upon Christian Santvoort and he again upon Don 
Pedro and they two knowing nothing who was in 
fault fell over together, and all the priming was 
spilt. And that gun was never fired. So or ever a 
shot came the rafts were across the moat, close 
beneath the castle walls, safe from any gun at all, and 
a score of sturdy Dutch pikemen were scrambling 
through the broken gate. 

Yelling to his men, Don Pedro staggered to his 
feet and with quick orders and oaths he made for the 
stair to the courtyard. Now it had come to stroke 
of steel. And again Christian Santvoort went after 
him and after Christian Santvoort, Raoul, Raoul, 
breathing short, his nostrils wide. He was happy 
now. He had events under his hand. Even as 
Christian turned to the stair Raoul came up with 
him, Raoul took him by the collar and kicked his 
I 9 I 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


legs from under him and hurled him out to the 
moat. He had not vanished before Raoul dived 
after him. 

There was no one to heed them. The Dutch- 
men were all in a frenzy to win the citadel — some 
dragging up new rafts, some swimming, and those 
first desperate men hacking and hewing in the very 
gateway. The Spaniards were utterly distraught. 
Raoul had his quarry to himself. 

Christian Santvoort, gasping, gurgling his way 
ashore, found Raoul waiting for him, felt an arm 
engage with his own like a vice, heard a voice rasp 
“ March !” and was dragged away toward the sand 
dunes. The man’s wits, as I take it, were stunned. 
He had for the moment no thought nor will. One 
can excuse him for that. 

Raoul relates that they had gone a wet furlong 
before Christian came to himself. Then he checked 
and dragged back upon Raoul’s arm: “What is it? 
Who are you?” he cried hoarsely. 

“The man sent to deal with you, Master Christian,” 
quoth Raoul. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That I am going to find out.” 

Christian started back and tried to wrench himself 
away. Raoul’s hard arm locked his. For a moment 
192 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


the two swung wrestling together; Christian was the 
heavier man far, the stronger, I suppose, in muscle, 
but Raoul encompassed him like a living cable of 
steel. In a moment Christian was on the ground, 
breathless, crushed, looking up through the dark at 
fiery eyes. “Fool, fool, do you think to trick me 
like your brother?” the voice rasped at him. “Have 
a care, Master Christian! I am not very patient. 
It will take but little more of you to make me rob 
you of a limb, ay, or life, mordieu. Have a care!” 
Raoul sprang off his chest. “Up, now! Swiftly, 
mordieu. Is a gentleman to wait for you?” 

Christian staggered to his feet. “This is an 
outrage!” he gasped. “ This is intolerable ! I ” 

Raoul drove a blow at his chest. “Forward, 
rascal, forward!” 

Christian turned clumsily and began to run away. 

Raoul whipped out his sword and with the flat 
of it dealt a cruel blow across the man’s loins. Chris- 
tian shrieked and fell again. Raoul had a foot on 
his neck. “Another such trick, fool, and you taste 
the steel itself,” he made the point quiver close to 
Christian’s eye and the man shrieked again. But 
there was none to heed him. All Flushing hearkened 
to the din of the fight. Raoul laughed: “Cur, 
, what right have you to shun pain?” He stepped 
193 


cur. 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


back and sheathed his sword. “To your feet! Do 
not tempt me again.” But for a moment Christian 
seemed to have no power to rise. . . . Slowly, 

with some queer muttering to himself, he found his 
feet and looked sideways at Raoul. “On!” cried 
Raoul. “On!” So a strange procession, Christian 
shambling, stumbling over the sand heaps, Raoul fol- 
lowing lightly a sword’s length behind, they went 
on through the night. ... At first Christian 
turned often to look back: but always Raoul’s grim 
laugh met him. ... In a while he dared not 
turn at all: and still he had to hear Raoul chuck- 
ling a little. . . . 

They had gone a mile or more, they were lost 
among the grey blown sand, when Raoul cried : “ Halt ! ” 
He sat himself down on the crest of the sand dunes 
and Christian turned and peered in nervous terror. 
Raoul pointed him to the hollow below. There 
you have them in the grey gloom, Raoul sitting easily, 
but his body straight as a bolt, Christian Santvoort 
slouching, shuffling below. Raoul considered him 
awhile, beckoned him closer and considered him 
again. Their eyes were upon a level. “Tell me the 
truth,” Raoul snapped. 

“I — you — it is an outrage,” Christian stammered. 
“I will not bear it. It is ” 


194 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


“Cur,” said Raoul very quietly. 

Christian began to whine. “I am sure I do not 
know what you mean. You have entreated me 
shamefully. And I have never done you any wrong. 
I ” 

“Tell the truth,” Raoul thundered. 

“Well, but I do not know what you mean. I am 
all dizzy. And you have bruised me very sore. I 
am cold, too. I ” 

“ Mordieu , do you think I care what you suffer?” 
cried Raoul. 

“It is most brutal in you,” Christian wailed. 
Then with a ludicrous defiance. “What do I care 
for you ? What ” 

“Ah:” the sound was not much, but as he made 
it Raoul leant forward a little and in the gloom Chris- 
tian saw his eyes. 

“For the love of God tell me what you want!” 
at last a cry rang true. 

“The truth of what you were doing in the 
citadel.” 

“Oh!” Raoul heard the sound of sucking lips 
and indrawn breath. “Oh, it was a most foul out- 
rage. The Spaniards took me captive because they 
said I was plotting treason against them. They 
told me that I should be hanged unless my brother 
I 9S 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


paid a great ransom. And my brother — ah, well, 
he was ever a hard man — and there was no ransom. 
To-morrow, they said, I was to die. Dear sir, but 
for you ” 

“Fool,” said Raoul quietly. Christian Santvoort’s 
smooth, swift sentence broke sharp off. Raoul rose 
and there was a streak of steel in the gloom. 

“No, for God’s sake, no!” Christian screamed 
and flung himself down in the sand. 

“You have' had your chance. You have lied,” 
said Raoul coldly, and came a step nearer. 

“I will tell the truth, I swear it. I will!” 

“You have little time,” said Raoul coldly. 

“Oh, I will tell you all. Only wait, wait!” His 
voice broke in a queer, hysterical sob. “It was a 
trick. You are right. It was a trick. Dirck has 
always grudged me money. He is miserly, close 
indeed. If he were not so grudging there would 
have been no need for it. And I was in debt. There 
was a thousand guilders to Don Pedro at play. He 
thought of this. I made a covenant with him. He 
was to pretend to arrest me and pretend he would 
hang me unless Dirck paid a good ransom. And 
he was to have three quarters of it. You see 
if Dirck were not so miserly — ah, what are you 
doing? You will not kill me now — not now!” 

196 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


his voice rose in a shriek as Raoul came towards 
him. 

“Cur! If there were a soul in you, it would die 
of shame. What use are you to any man ? What 
use is life to you?” and the sword point quivered 
greedy. . . . Then it fell, then it clashed home in 

the scabbard. “No, cor (Lieu , I sentence you to life. 
That is the worst doom for you, life with your shame. 
Go!” 

Raoul turned away and made for the other side of 
the dune and lay cosily on his back. He shut his 
eyes with a sigh of relief and heard the voice of the 
sea. . . . 

Christian was making some queer noises by him- 
self. After a while he scrambled over to Raoul. 
“What am I to do?” he moaned. “Where am I to 
go?” Raoul said nothing at all. Christian cowered 
down on the sand . . . after a while Raoul heard 
him sobbing, heard the tearing, rending sobs of a 
man utterly beaten. 

Raoul sprang up and stamped in angry impatience. 
“Dame, did ever you think or feel or care for anyone 
outside your skin? Oh, it is nothing that your 
curst treacherous greed has brought your brother 
hatred and the worst pain — nothing that he staked 
his last guilder, did all but steal to make that ransom 
197 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


— nothing that your mother hates him because he 
would not steal, too — nothing that the girl he loves 
now doubts him miserly and cruel !” 

“I— I love her, too,” Christian sobbed. “And 
I only wanted some little money.” 

Raoul’s laugh echoed along the shore. Then he 
clutched Christian by the shoulder. “Love? You? 
In the name of God, if you would make yourself a 
man, now, now! Each instant is nearer too late.” 

“How is it?” sobbed Christian. “How can I?” 

“Deal truly by him.” 

Christian buried his face in his hands. . . . 

Raoul heard him moaning to God. . . . Painfully 
he rose and faltering trudged away through the night. 
. . . Raoul watched awhile, then followed. And 

again Christian turned back often to look at him. 
. . . When they had gone some way, Raoul with 

a muttered oath came up to his side and gripped his 
arm. . . . Christian looked at him timidly. 

There was no cruelty now in the gleaming eyes 
. . . Raoul was surprising himself again. . . 

To that tiny room with' its odor of hemp Dirck 
Santvoort came back from the storm of the citadel. 
His strange leather armor — just such his father and 
his grandfather had worndn their day — was dappled 
in blood and dust. He loosed it and sat down wearily, 
198 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


leaning forward against the table, his arms spread 
out across it. So he sat, muttering to himself, when 
his mother broke in with the girl. “What now, 
Dirck,” she cried, “what now?” 

“He is not there, mother.” 

“ How do you mean ? What is it ? The Spaniards 
are beaten?” 

“We have taken the citadel. I have searched 
everywhere. He is not there.” 

The mother screamed. “They have killed him 
already!” she cried and pressed her hands to her 
head. Then flinging out her hand to point at Dirck: 
“His blood is on your hands. But for your accursed 
schemes he would not have died and you did not 
lift a hand to save him. Ah, you — you — ” her voice 
failed and she fell sobbing on the girl’s shoulder. 
Over her quivering head the girl’s eyes met Dirck’s, 
merciless enough. 

There was tramping and a clatter in the corridor. 
Gabriello Hawkins .strode in twirling his moustachios 
with tremendous speed. “ Carissime ,” he cried. 
“Ha, noble ladies, your slave. Dirck, my brave 
heart, I have that commandant. A strange tale, 
mehercle , he tells. Tur piter mendax y basely he lies, 
I doubt. Yet all things may be true while the devil 
lives. How say you? Will you hear?” 

199 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“Of Christian ?” cried Vrouw Santvoort. 

“Ay, lady. God give us all grace at the last.” 

“Oh, let him come, let him come!” she cried and 
Dirck bowed his head. 

“So be it! Be strong now.” He flung open the 
door and stamped his foot. “ On your front ! March ! ” 

Between two sturdy Dutchmen Don Pedro was 
marched in. He limped painfully, his face was 
pitted with powder and there was a dirty, red scrap 
of linen about his brow. But blood shot eyes glared 
at them and “What! Rogue’s brother and mother 
and light o’ love! Well met!” he said with a hoarse 
laugh. 

Vrouw Santvoort turned to face him fierce as a 
wounded beast. “Villain, where is my son?” 

“Saints help him to hell where his place is! What 
matter for so base a son as yours, old woman?” 

“Pedro, Pedro,” said Gabriello Hawkins gently, 
“you prepare for yourself an uneasy death.” 

“Bah, what death does a beaten man fear? Am 
I brought here to say fair words of that rogue Chris- 
tian? Dutch swine, should I spare you one word 
of the truth if it smarts? You think the beast a 
dear martyr. Bah, he was nothing but a thief. He 
wanted money. He knew you would pay to buy 
him off death. So we made our little plan. I took 


200 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


him and frightened you by threatening death. He 
was to have his share of the price. Martyr! He 
only wanted to plunder you.” 

“It is a lie!” Dirck leapt up with a shout, his 
broad face crimson: “ it is an accursed lie!” 

But his mother, her throat, her bosom working 
as she tried to speak, pointed silent at the door. There 
grey faced, dishevelled, stood Christian. 

Dirck saw him and, with a great roar that made no 
words, leapt at him and wrung his hands. “My 
brother, my brother, in good time,” he cried and the 
mother broke by him and flung herself upon Christian’s 
breast. 

Raoul, swaggered in, his swarthy face drawn a 
little, his eyes curiously keen. Even while the mother 
clung to her son he gripped Christian’s shoulder and 
Christian shuddered and turned to him. 

“What kind of beast is the mother that fondles 
a thief of a son?” the Spaniard laughed. 

Dirck turned upon him and dealt him a blow that 
crashed him back past his guards against the wall. 

“No,” Christian cried out, “he has spoken the 
truth.” 

The Spaniard’s laugh rang again. 

“Christian!” his mother clutched at him fiercely. 


“Christian!” 


201 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“lam . . . what he said,” Christian gasped 

and looked like a frightened child at Raoul. 

His mother tore herself from him and gazed 
with wild, swollen eyes. There was no need to ask 
more. His face told all. . . . She flung herself 

down by the table in a frenzy of sorrow 

The Spaniard was laughing loud. On him Gab- 
riello turned in a passion. “So laugh they in hell, 
sceleralissime. Out! Out!” and he drove the man 
and his guards before him. 

“Marie!” Christian breathed. “Marie!” 

The girl stood aloof with the eyes of one held in a 
great fear. At the call she gave a strange, gasping 
sob. “Do not — do not speak to me,” she muttered. 

But Dirck, grave and deliberate, strode to his 
brother. “Christian — it is in my mind I have been 
hard to you,” he said and felt for his brother’s hand. 
Christian clutching it, turned away .... Raoul 
saw his shoulders heave . . . . Together the two 

brothers went out. 

Raoul drew himself stiffly to the salute as he looked 
after them. Then, turning, saw the girl’s cheeks all 
glistening wet while she smiled. . . . Softly she 
came to Vrouw Santvoort, laid a hand on her shoulder 
and caressed it. “ Come, mother,” she said . . . . 

Raoul, left alone, sat down in the largest chair, 


202 


RAOUL’S DINNER 


pulled off his boots and regarded them benignly. 
“I have made a man to-night,” said he. “It is 
exhausting.” He stretched himself out on the rug, 
laid his sword by his side, pulled up a coil of rope 
for his pillow, and was asleep. 


14 


203 


CHAPTER VIII 


raoul’s professor 

I T was at the siege of Leyden that Raoul jumped 
out of a window after Barbara van der Werf, 
who loved him from that hour. She was then 
nine. Close on a decade after, when the horrors of 
that siege were faded, and the new University, a mem- 
orial of the triumph, was grown to be a thing of some 
account, upon a morning in May, Raoul came to 
Leyden again. Adrian van der Werf and his wife 
gave a most hearty welcome (as indeed they had good 
reason of gratitude) then begged pardon of him for 
going to a prayer meeting. Raoul, whose large curios- 
ity halted before prayer meetings, went a walking in 
the orchards beyond the wall. 

Perhaps he did not choose amiss. Springtime was 
wild in the air. The white fragrant glory of the 
apple-blossom quickened his heart like passionate 
music. The hurrying note of the bees’ labor mingled 
with the wind, and through the wind and the sunlight 
the strife of missel-thrush and blackbird rang with 
joy. Raoul drank all in greedily. He began to see 
204 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


all the glad medley of color, grey and green and laven- 
der as the leaves swayed behind the pure flood of 
blossom, the bright gold of daffodils and tall daisies 
broken with the hyacinth’s deepest blue, and afar 
about the grey walls’ base a wave of valerian, crimson 
red. 

It was good to live. You see the lilt of his walk, 
the proud strength of him . . . and he met what 

well became the hour and exalted his temper. Lithe 
as a maid should be in her first springtime, one went 
light and eager with a gallant that held himself manly 
enough. Raoul sat down and banked himself against 
a swell of the ground and, bright-eyed, breathing deep, 
let himself watch. 

In a while, they, too, sat down and he saw 
them a comely pair. Her brow was delectably white 
beneath the heavy ripple of dark hair and even from 
far he could see the fine wrought form of her and the 
deep redness of her lips. The lover was a sturdy 
fellow, something dark and heavy of face but alive 
enough as he turned to her and pled most eloquent 
with hands and lips. Raoul saw her smile, that 
strange, wise, mocking smile he loved in womanhood. 
Then she spoke slowly, with a roguish tilt of her head 
and swift glances from under her lashes. It seemed 
she was kind. For the lover caught her hands and 
205 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


kissed them with passion, she smiling gay the while — 
and Raoul could have sworn that she clung to his 
hands a little. Then my lord rose up and after no 
mean bow marched off to the city. 

“So. Singly. Lest the good gossips of Leyden 
should blacken us,” quoth Raoul watching him. 
“With a kiss o’ the hand in memory, and a promise of 
better to-morrow. Benedicite .” 

The girl watched my lord smiling till he was lost 
among the trees. Then she rose up and followed. 
Raoul sprang out of the daffodils to her side. “ My 
felicitations,” says he with a dazzling bow. 

“And on what, pray?” she held aloof. 

“Why, on yourself,” quoth Raoul. 

She looked at him gravely (he remarked that her 
eyes were blue). There was doubtless something 
in him that appealed to her. For she did not disdain 
to answer: “I do you the kindness of supposing that 
unsaid,” said she. 

Raoul — he had much experience — understood her 
at once. That is, as much as any man but one could 
ever understand. He bowed. “But it would have 
been mere deceit not to worship you. And all con- 
versations must have a beginning.” 

“I do not see the need, sir.” 

“I grieve to declare you selfish. So indeed am I. 

206 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


But for my selfishness I have the divine right of man- 
hood. You, none at all; that is the one loss in being 
a woman. But you are selfish, mademoiselle, because 
to talk to me costs you nothing and gives me infinite 
felicity. Yet you grudge me. It is unwomanly.” 

“ Indeed, sir, it seems I need only listen.” 

“That would be most unwomanly of all.” 

He had persuaded her to smile. The victory was 
won. But still she was not encouraging: “The 
truth is, sir,” said she, “gentlemen of your kind are 
not to my taste.” 

“If you think me less than unique, I warn you of 
your error.” 

“Your manners, alack, are no wise unique.” 

“Nay, mademoiselle, consider me and them more 
deeply. On the first flash you took me for a gallant 
of the gutter. But you find I understand your temper 
as well as yourself. Or better.” 

“ I protest I am restraining my temper marvelously.” 

“Not in the least,” Raoul blandly informed her. 
“ For your temper needs no restraint. I offer no more 
than good fellowship. I ask of you no more. What 
should inflame you ? What hinders our virtuous 
union?” 

“Since it appears by these presents that you are a 
man ” 


207 


A GENTLEMAN OE FORTUNE 


“Thereof shall some woman be mightily glad.” 
Raoul saluted the not impossible her. 

“ Whom I have not before seen ” 

“You have all my sympathy,” Raoul assured her. 

“ it is not becoming that I should seem to like 

to see you.” 

“Heaven!” Raoul addressed it with a gesture of 
frenzy. “Is it becoming that a maid should be a 
living lie? Am I a dragon, a Minotaurus? Quite 
otherwise, mademoiselle. I am an honest gentle- 
man of fortune with something about him that takes 
the eye. I have the felicity to amuse you. You have, 
I assure you, the ability to amuse me. Why should 
we both go sorrowing for a beldame’s notion of what 
befits?” 

“ So light may all my sorrows be,” quoth she. 

“I protest the first prude was born of cold folly,” 
Raoul grumbled as she made away from him. Then 
he quickened his pace to her side. “Let me tell you 
a story. I had it from a wise clerk of Louvain. In 
old years there was a seigneur of the Greeks called 
Odysseus and it befell him to be shipwrecked so that 
of all his goods and company he saved none but him- 
self. And he was cast up on the shore with no rag 
to cover him. Beyond the beach were some maidens 
playing bilboquet and the seigneur Odysseus, needing 
208 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


things to put both inside and outside himself, went 
to them. Now they, being prudes, did all run 
away saving one who was the King’s daughter. 
She, having heart and mind large enough to con- 
temn little things, stayed for him and gave him 
all his need and spoke him kindly. Her name 
— well, her name is out of my mind for it is hard as 
high German. But I am sure by the clerk’s tale she 
was much like yourself. Moreover, your task is the 
easier for I” — Raoul regarded his neat legs with appro- 
val — “have as good breeches as you need wish to see.” 

“But if you remember your story, sir,” said she 
quickly, “when they came near the town Nausicaa 
went forward alone lest the townfolk should talk. 
So good e’en, my lord Odysseus.” She sped away. 

Raoul let her go. He did not hold himself defeated, 
for he had kept her long enough to rejoice in the deep 
water light of the blue eyes beneath black lashes, the 
milk white turn of her face and the roguish mirth of 
her dark lips. He followed after, and not too far 
away, watching the life of her walk. 

Away through the town she led him and past the 
old fortalice and down the Nieuw Straat into the 
shadow of the Hooglandsche Kerk and the scent of 
its limes. And behold she halted at the burgomas- 
ter’s door, Raoul — almost he exclaimed — closed 
209 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


upon her swiftly. With her hand on the latch she 
turned red and angry: “You go too far, sir!” 

“Nay, I am going farther, Barbara,” said he and 
opened the door for her. Mightily indignant she 
faced him, he waved her in with bland politeness. 
She gave a little wrathful cry and sped in crying: 
“Father! Father!” 

Raoul followed at his leisure. “Once with a kiss 
you promised me eternal love, ” said he sadly. “ It is 
true you did not know the worth of kisses then.” 

She was stamping with impatience when Adrian 
van der Werf came grave in his fur gown. “Father, 
this person — ” she began, breathless. 

“Ah, M. Raoul has found you,” said her father 
smiling. With a little cry she shrank away into the 
shadow, her hands pressed to her hot cheeks. “ Why, 
you were not so shy of him when you were nine.” 

“In fact I have often wanted some one to blush for 
me, Barbara,” said Raoul, and held out his hand. 
“You do it as delectably as I could wish.” 

“It would be kinder to help me stop,” Barbara 
protested, coming out of the shadow in pleasant, 
smiling confusion. “ But it was hateful of me not to 
know you. Oh, tell me, did you know me at once ? ” 

“At first,” said Raoul calmly, “appearances de- 
ceived me.” 


210 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


Her eyes fell an instant. Then she looked up with 
a quick, roguish gleam. “I am sure you do not care 
for appearances.” A clock struck. “Ah! You 
always liked dinner, I remember. It is full time.” 

“Ay, go in, child, go in,” said her father. 

She was gay and most kind to Raoul at dinner and 
he sparkled upon the surface, but more than once she 
caught his humorous eyes dark in gravity. 

For Raoul, who had always a mission to put the 
world right, was concerned for her. He knew her 
father and mother well. He was sure that no decent, 
honorable lover of her need fear them. And he mis- 
liked this gentleman who met her in secret beyond 
the wall. Raoul had forced through enough of ill 
life himself to be mightily zealous in keeping his 
friends out of it. There was never anyone more 
respectable than he in the end. 

When the graceful, lavish courtesies of Mynheer 
and Mevrouw Van der Werf were done, when Raoul 
had fought half a dozen battles over again for them 
and shown Adrian the younger three new tricks for 
the swordsman afoot against mounted men, he cap- 
tured Barbara in the garden alone. She was on a 
broad, white seat by the sundial at the end of the 
great yew ledge. He could not doubt her pleasure as 
she made room for him with a dainty flick of grey 


211 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


skirts. Then turning to him with the gayest smile on 
lip and eye (while punctiliously she hid her ankle): 
“Now tell me truly, did you know me at first?” 

Raoul shook his head. “It was not in such condi- 
tion that I thought to meet Barbara van der Werf,” 
said he with portentous gravity. 

She did not conceal surprise. It was plain that 
righteousness so alarming was not what she thought 
Raoul’s character. “Where have I marred your 
ideal?” said she. 

Raoul turned to her with so paternally solemn an air 
that she gurgled invincible laughter. “You will 
not suspect me,” says he, “of meaning you anything 
but good.” 

“Indeed, no,” she murmured demurely, thinking 
him much too amusing. 

“Then let me ask you,” says he, very virtuous, 
“does your mother or your father know of your meet- 
ing this brave gentleman without the wall?” 

“No, indeed, sir;” she cast down her eyes. “They 
— they believed me on a visit to the sick.” 

“Barbara,” says Raoul mighty earnest, “is it well 
done?” 

“Indeed I thought he did very well,” she murmured. 

“If he means you honorably let him come honor- 
ably to your father’s house!” 


212 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“But I think I do not want him,” said Barbara. 
“And I am sure he does not want to.” 

“Child, is it honorable, is it maidenly in you?” 
cried Raoul. 

Barbara looked in his eyes: “Why, sir, from 
what you said to the girl you did not know I had hardly 
thought you so precise.” 

Raoul coughed. “My dear, I meant nothing and 
therefore did you no harm. This gentleman purports 
to mean much and will do you as much damage.” 

“But I ‘have the felicity to amuse him’ and indeed 
he has a great deal of ‘ability to amuse me, 5 ” she 
quoted with plaintive malice from the orations of 
Raoul. Then with her head on one side; “I suspect,” 
says she, “the first prude was a man.” 

Raoul gave up solemnity in despair. “And we 
know,” he added, “it was a woman first listened to the 
serpent.” 

“That,” Barbara explained, “was after the man 
had spoken to her. The voices were marvelous like.” 

“ They are so. And it was in an orchard Eve made 
her mistake, too.” 

She laughed. “ Oh, you persist like a spider. I do 
promise you there is no shame at all in what I do — 
and I can tell you no more, for the secret is his. Oh, 
believe me.” She was again the child he had loved. 

213 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“I believe,” said Raoul and kissed her hand. And 
resolved to deal with the gentleman. 

Then they were both happy, Raoul, when he let 
himself go, could be the gayest company, and with 
tales of wild deeds and the thrill of his own surprising 
soul he kept her heart swift. She was mightily proud 
that when she was nine she had taken her chance 
and kissed him. 

In the days that followed, Raoul used well the grue- 
some skill he had in knowing what another was doing 
without watching. So that he came to the orchards 
again one twilight hour close behind Barbara, but 
unseen. The same sturdy dark fellow was waiting 
her, they had the same joyous meeting, the same tender 
converse and farewell. And Raoul’s face in the 
shadow wore a saturnine smile. It was a matter of 
some skill to follow the gentleman without being seen 
of the lady. Raoul did it with success. 

Well away from her and still far enough from the 
town, he caught up his gentleman. You see his face 
change swiftly from the wary spy to the stern moralist. 
He tapped the gentleman on the shoulder. 

“I have an errand to you, sir. I am Raoul de 
Tout le Monde. Who are you ?” 

“An errand without an address?” says the man, 
speaking Dutch with a French accent. 

214 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“’Tis your actions and not your name that brings 
me here. Dare you not put a name to your actions ?” 

“Sir, you are presumptious. I am Gil Vallorbes, 
Professor Juris Civilis et Juris Gentium in the Uni- 
versity of Leyden.” 

“Babes and sucklings prophesy there, then,” said 
Raoul with a shrug : and indeed the professor did not 
seem five years older than himself. Raoul looked 
twenty-five till he was fifty. 

“Nay, babes swagger with swords too big for 
them,” quoth the professor angrily. If he had kept 
his temper, if Raoul had not felt so moral, they 
might have seen how absurd they looked, red faced, 
nose to nose in the gloaming. 

“Well, sir, for all you are a child and a professor 
you are old enough and man enough to know what’s 
honorable. I complain of your conduct, sir.” 

The professor of law stiffened and flushed. “I 
contest your right, sir!” he cried. 

“I have no wish to put you to shame,” said Raoul 
grandly. “ I will believe you not worse than thought- 
less.” 

“A pest on your impudent insolence,” cried the 
outraged professor. 

“ Be gentle, with your words, sir,” Raoul thundered. 
“Look you, if I fix a quarrel on you, there will be one 
215 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


professor the less in this world. Now. You have 
an affair with a lady whose name does not pass my 
lips. I will believe till you prove other, that you have 
meant no ill. But, sir, henceforth you shall seek her in 
her father’s house, not stealthily and shamefully 
beyond the wall. This counsel for your own honor 
which, I tell you frankly, you have smirched.” 

“You may go to perdition,” the professor ex- 
ploded. “You are an impertinent. I will hear no 
more of you,” and he thought to thrust by. 

Raoul gripped his arm. “ Be advised, sir,” Raoul’s 
voice rasped in his ear. “ If you are a man of honor 
go fairly to her father’s house. If you are not — you 
dig your grave — I am Raoul de Tout le Monde.” 
He struck an attitude before the professor, chest out, 
tapping his sword hilt. 

The professor, with some words that were not pro- 
fessorial, thrust by him and on into the town. 

Raoul followed gloomy. He did not see his way 
clear. It seemed to him that it would be his duty to 
despoil the faculty of law of its professor: and that 
was not likely to please Barbara. The professor 
annoyed him immensely. That a gentleman should 
prefer to conduct his wooing against Raoul’s advice 
was to Raoul plain evidence of ill intent or bitter 
folly. Raoul was always quite certain he could play 
216 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


providence admirably if people would not interfere 
with his arrangements. 

In the character of providence he sought out Bar- 
bara. She was cosily upon a couch in the innermost 
room, and she sang softly to herself and made a lute 
echo faintly her voice. It sounded of love. But 
when she saw the prodigious solemnity of Raoul, the 
note changed with a clang. 

‘ Slaet op den tromele, van dirre dom deyne ” 

(Beat the drum merrily! Rub a dub dow!) 

she pealed in heroic strain. Raoul brushed the martial 
ballad aside with a lordly wave of his hand. She 
gurgled. Raoul drew up a chair to her and sat down. 
“ Indeed,” says she, her voice quavering and her lips, 
“you have the very manner of the apothecary.” 

“I pray heaven I have not to be the apothecary 
of your soul,” said Raoul with the deepest gravity. 

“Oh, pray that vigorously!” she said. 

“Barbara, I have spoken with this professor of 
yours.” 

A red spot burnt in her cheek: “That is, you have 
spied on me.” 

“I was never afraid,” says Raoul grandly, “to dirty 
my fingers in the cause of heaven.” 

“And after I asked you to trust me!” 

217 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“My dear, I would trust you like God or myself 
if you were not trusting llim.’ , 

“And what ails him, pray — poor Vallorbes!” 

Raoul coughed. “I am not yet at the bottom of 
him. But I never suspected a man more. If ever 
a man knew the world and the worst of it, it is I,” 
his chest swelled with pride. But Barbara was laugh- 
ing. “Child, bring him here, let him face your 
father ” 

“They would disagree marvelously,” Barbara 
murmured in tranquil joy. 

“ deal honorably with us all ” 

“That would be far less interesting for you,” 
Barbara reminded him. 

“ — Prove him before you yield to him.” 

Barbara gurgled. “Oh, I trust him like myself.” 

Raoul made a gesture of dramatic despair. “ ’Tis 
such women as you are the glory of the world and the 
ruin of yourself.” 

“I give you my word I will be neither,” Barbara 
assured him. 

“You will not be advised?” said Raoul in his 
deepest voice. 

Barbara looked sentimental. “Only by my own 
heart,” she sighed with her hand on it — and laughed 
at him. 


218 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“No trusty counsellor!” 

“But decently amusing,” said Barbara meekly. 
“That is why you like me,” she informed him. 

“Ay, child, I like you enough to save you,” said 
Raoul rising. “I would it were with your own will.” 

Humorous affection sparkled in Barbara’s blue 
eyes as she looked after him. “I suppose,” she re- 
flected, “one likes men because they can be so quite, 
quite wrong. . . .” 

On the next night, as I believe, she went out for 
nothing better than to annoy Raoul. She made osten- 
tation of going. In Raoul’s hearing she told her 
mother she was away to visit a sick cousin. You 
conceive Raoul’s ears pricking at the phrase. He fol- 
lowed her, earnestly, warily. But with a wicked skill 
she lost him in the alleys off the Lange Brug and 
then — why, then, I will swear she went demurely to sit 
by the sick. 

Raoul suspected her of nothing less. The moment 
he found he had lost her he made for the old haunt 
beyond the town. And there — conceive the flame 
of his righteous indignation! — there he beheld the 
professor with another maid in his arms. 

The professor had vastly more zeal with this one. 
It multiplied his offence, mordieu! He held her close 
upon his heart. It was not her hands that he kissed. 

15 219 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


And he was rewarded. She clung to him passionately. 
She answered him well. 

You are not to suppose that Raoul felt any shame 
at watching them. Avenging Providence does not 
disdain to play the eavesdropper. 

The professor and his new love were in no haste to 
part. Raoul sat down behind the trees and his lean 
face was grim and still more grim. He found their 
joy infinitely tedious. Besides, he condemned the 
professor’s taste. This scrap of a girl, all pink and 
white with her pale hair, was a common flower of the 
wayside to the rare charm of Barbara. Altogether 
and every way he execrated the professor. 

At last the lovers parted. With a covey of kisses 
flung after her, the girl sped back to the town. The 
professor stayed a while. Raoul condemned him 
again for his discretion. When at length he came 
sauntering, whistling an amorous lay, Raoul spoke 
out of the shadow, peevishly: ‘‘You kiss like a pig.” 

The professor started back in amazement. Raoul 
rose up before him. “ Who made you a spy on me?” 
cried the professor with an oath. 

“I dislike the word. I dislike your kisses. Oh, 
I dislike them infinitely. In fact I cannot permit you 
to kiss without my leave.” 

The professor cursed his leave. 


220 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“ Your very swearing is piggish,” said Raoul critic- 
ally. “Oh, your whole being inflames me with 
contempt.” 

“By heaven you pass all bounds!” cried the profes- 
sor and tried to thrust him from the path. 

“Is it so professors fight?” Raoul sneered, “with 
open hands like girls at school.” 

“I will show you, sir,” the professor roared, purple 
with rage, and lugged out his sword. 

The more another man lost his temper the better 
Raoul ever kept his. “After all, there is a lurking 
beauty about you,” he admitted as he saluted punctili- 
ously and swung round to make the light fair for 
them both. The professor engaged with more fury 
than precision: he was but too plainly no professor 
of the sword: and the utter facility of the fight dis- 
gusted Raoul. 

“You perceive?” says he coldly. “Your life is 
mine.” The professors neck was bare to his point. 
“Ah!” As the professor made a wild lunge. “It 
is dangerous to be so much in earnest. I have but 
to straighten my arm and — so!” He pricked the 
professor’s chest. “In fine, sir, you are in my power. 
I’ve no wish to let your silly life out. Swear to me 
you’ll have no more in private with Juffrouw Van der 
Werf and I let you go.” 


221 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The professor, whose dark brow was dripping sweat, 
stammered a breathless curse at his insolence and beset 
him again. Raoul broke ground swiftly and again 
very swiftly. The professor followed wild in rage 
and lunged beyond his reach and staggered and fell. 
Raoul was upon him, rolled him upon his back with a 
crafty trick of the knee, had a foot on his heaving chest 
and the sword point at his throat. “Have you learnt 
your lesson now, professor ? ” says he blandly. “ There 
is but one way to earn your life. Deal honorably 
by the Juffrouw Van der Werf and never see her again. 
Swear it!” 

“I will not,” the professor gasped. “No man 
shall order my life, if I die for it.” 

“Bethink you,” cried Raoul, and the sword point 
urged. “I demand no more than honor demands. 
But less, by heaven, means death.” 

“ I am judge of my own honor,” the professor gasped. 

“Speak to her no more!” Raoul thundered. 
“Swear it!” 

“I will not,” the professor growled. 

Raoul with an oath shortened his arm to thrust. 
The professor did not flinch. . . . Raoul waited 

a moment, his sword in the sunlight looking down 
at him. . . . Then he put up his sword with a 

flourish, he stepped off the professors chest. “You 


222 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


are an impracticable man,” said he smiling. “You 
are too good to kill: and yet for what I have seen of 
you, you are too bad to let live.” 

The professor laboriously arose. Disheveled, with 
many grass blades upon him, he stared at Raoul. 
Then he drew a long breath. “Heaven!” says he, 
“if I mystify you you mystify me. What do you want 
at all?” 

Raoul sat down upon the grass. “Explain to me,” 
says he, “your polygamous intentions.” 

“It is nothing of the kind,” said the professor. 
“ Of that most noble and high born lady the Juffrouw 
Van der Werf I want nothing at all.” 

“I could slay you for it,” cried Raoul. 

“Name of God!” cried the poor professor, clutching 
his brow, “ what would you have ? I thought you were 
concerned for her?” 

“ For your taste in not loving her,” Raoul grumbled, 
“I could fight you again.” 

The professor gasped heavily. It is probable that 
he thought Raoul not quite sane. “But she has 
been very kind to me,” he explained. “She came 
only to help me with Matilda ” 

“Matilda!” Raoul muttered disgustfully. “She 
would have a name like that ! Well, and why do you 
want help to Matilda?” 


223 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The professor became melancholy. He shook his 
head. “I am not permitted to be betrothed to her.” 
He sighed tremendously. 

“What more does Matilda want?” Raoul asked. 
“You are a straight, lusty man and ” 

“It is not Matilda,” said the professor. “She 
knows. She understands. — It is her father.” And 
he gave another alarming sigh. “ She is the daughter 
of Hendrik van Uden ” 

“The old soldier of Burgandy. Old Woodenh — 
ahem! You contemplate him as a father-in-law.” 

“He swears,” said the professor in deep depression, 
“his daughter shall never belong to a man of the 
gown. He will give her only to a soldier.” 

“Which indeed you do not resemble,” Raoul mur- 
mured. 

“And he has most straitly forbidden her to meet 
me,” the professor lamented. 

“So Barbara has to bid her come and be kissed,” 
said Raoul. “Well, professor, what remedy?” 

The professor shook his head. “I must wait. 
We must wait.” 

“It is the most accursed trade I know,” said 
Raoul and lay flat on his back and watched the 
sky mellowing in the sunset light. ... It was 
some time before he sat up. Then his eyes were 
224 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


at their wickedest. “And when does she come for 
her kisses again?” he asked. 

The professor brightened a little. “She promised 
me to-morrow.” 

“A merveille . He lives close above the Stadhuis, 
old Woodenhea — that is to say, your esteemed father- 
in-law. To-morrow be in the Maarsman Steeg. 
Fail not, if you value Matilda.” 

“But at what hour? What do you propose?” 

“At what hour? A little before the hour she 
should start for your kisses. And that is — seven? 
A quarter after seven? Better and better! Be there 
a little before seven and wait. What do I propose? 
I do not propose. I prophesy. I prophesy bliss for 
you and Matilda.” 

The professor, as was not unreasonable, began to 
ask many questions. 

“Do not be the catechism. I never could endure 
it. Come away back to the town. The dew is falling 
and spoiling my beautiful hose. Pray admire my 
hose. Do you suppose that Matilda — bah, what am 
I saying? 

“Slaet op den tromele, van dirre dom deyne: 

Slaet op den tromele, van dirre dom does: 

Slaet op den tromele, van dirre dom deyne: 

Vive le gens! is nu de loes.” 

225 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Humming that sounding ballad of Barbara’s, Raoul 
marched the protesting professor back to the city. 
But before they were in sight of the gates he halted 
and sent the professor on before him. “ My reputation 
is delicately maidenly to-night,” says he, and to the 
professor imploring information would give no more 
than this: “If you knew anything you would know 
too much. It is innocence that gives man the right 
to paradise. Farewell. Remember. In the Maars- 
man Steeg!” Reluctantly, the professor was driven 
on ahead. Raoul spent a decent interval in placid 
contemplation of the rising moon, then at some speed 
made for his lodging and Barbara. 

Barbara indeed was more than ready for him. She 
met him upon the threshold holding aloft a candle 
whose light fell upon a demure, delicious wickedness. 
“Pray, did you happen to be looking for me?” said 
she. 

Raoul regarded her gravely: “Barbara,” said he, 
“some day you will have to be a wife. Abolish your 
sense of humor.” 

“I shall present it to my husband,” says she. 

“Poor wretch,” said Raoul with feeling, “he will 
not have time to be anything but patient.” 

“I do not think you are being very moral to-night,” 
said Barbara. 


226 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“Alack, Barbara, your friends are not allowed to 
be moral.” 

“You must learn to be moral with a certain 
ease,” Barbara informed him. “Like my friend 
of the orchards,” and her eyes were essentially 
roguish. 

Gently but firmly Raoul possessed himself of her 
arm. He led her out to the garden. 

“I do hope your walk to-night was pleasing,” 
says she with an air of concern. Raoul took hold of 
her arm more firmly. She looked up at him most 
wickedly innocent. “You found what you sought?” 

“I followed wickedness, Barbara, and I found 
romance.” 

“And what did you say to it?” she cried eagerly. 
Raoul coughed. “Oh, I will wager my onyx girdle 
you were moral ! ” 

“I was the very church militant, ” Raoul admitted. 

“Oh, joy!” Barbara gurgled: and then mimicking 
Raoul in his moral moments: “‘Sir,’ (said you) 
‘is this maidenly in you?’ Oh, I will make him tell 
me just how funny you looked.” 

“I doubt if he saw,” said Raoul grimly. 

“And now, sir,” she swung a little on his arm for 
the last sunlight to fall across her face, “pray what 
do you think of his taste ? ” 

227 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul slipped one arm all round her and took her 
pleasing chin with his other hand: “Now what do 
you think you deserve ?” said he. Her eyes laughed 
gay defiance as his lips closed upon hers . . . but 
in the same instant a shadow of fear crossed her face 
and Raoul checked stiffly. She did not try to free 
herself nor he let go. They stood so silent and close, 
and half-unconsciously each felt the other draw a long 
breath. “In fact I am rather stupid,” said Raoul 
slowly. 

“It would have spoilt everything,” said Barbara 
as much to herself as him. Their eyes met gravely. 
“Yes. You know rather much,” she said. Raoul 
let go her chin, but his other arm held her still. So 
with her close in his arm he walked into the sunset. 
. . . “It is rather good to know you,” said 

Barbara. 

“I find it vastly interesting myself,” Raoul admitted. 

Barbara considered him critically. She was wonder- 
ing, I suppose, why she liked him so much and yet 
only liked him. She concluded with a little sigh. 
Then after a moment: “Well and did the professor 
find you interesting?” she asked. 

“My fascinations prostrated him,” said Raoul. 
“He regards me as a swashbuckler — a busybody — a 
redeemer.” 


228 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“And which are you?” 

“All three, my dear,” said Raoul. “That is the 
true mystery of my power.” 

“Oh, what do you mean?” she cried earnestly. 

“I hope to find out before I die.” 

“Well, what are you going to do now?” 

“ Whatever seems to myself most surprising.” 

“Oh, but about the professor. Do tell me every- 
thing.” 

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. “I condemned 
his taste. He condemned my manners. And so we 
parted.” 

Barbara looked disappointed. “You know about 
Matilda?” 

“It is impossible to say,” Raoul explained blandly, 
“how little Matilda interests me.” 

Barbara looked at him twice. “If you were the 
professor,” (Raoul shuddered dramatically) “what 
would you do?” 

“I should break old Woodenhead’s wooden head. 
We should fight. His daughter would weep for him 
and hate me. And we should all live happily ever 
after.” 

“You are being rather a pig,” said Barbara, watch- 
ing him. 

“It is very soothing,” said Raoul. “Now you are 
229 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


not soothing, Barbara. Did you ever see a lovely 
hedgehog?” 

“You are talking nonsense,” said Barbara severely. 

“Go look in a mirror,” said Raoul: and at that 
Barbara fairly wrenched herself away, and with a 
flash of her eyes and a stamp of her foot in anger 
half real, half feigned, turned her back on him. Which 
was precisely what Raoul wished. 

Till it was full dark he stayed in the garden pacing 
slowly a short path. His mind was concerned with 
two matters: he made himself see in the tiniest detail 
the streets and alleyways about the Stadhuis and he 
recalled every outer garment in his considerable 
wardrobe. 

The next afternoon he went (it is his habit of doing 
such things as this which, intellectually I most admire 
in Raoul) he went to visit Matilda’s father, the Bur- 
gundian veteran, Hendrik van Uden, old Woodenhead. 
That hairy, rosy, obstinate warrior he knew from old 
days in Leyden’s siege and they had a noisy hour or 
two exulting, fighting, fighting old fights. Raoul 
left the veteran in the highest spirits, convinced that 
he was the finest fellow in the world and Raoul the 
wisest for thinking him so. 

Then Raoul sauntered with meticulous eyes down 
the Maarsman Steeg and up an alley beside. And 
230 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


afterwards he went back to the Nieuw Straat and 
took two hours of sleep. For that he had always a 
great capacity. 

In the later darker twilight the professor came tip- 
toeing to the end of the Maarsman Steeg. He looked 
hardly more ashamed of himself than he was. He 
had been telling himself continually that he was a fool 
to come and be made a fool of. He was mighty thank- 
ful that it was close upon supper time and the streets 
near empty. Too occupied in reflecting on his own 
folly, he failed to mark a ragged swashbuckler loung- 
ing in a beershop doorway close at hand. 

This was a scoundrel of dissolute air. He swag- 
gered and rolled about in the doorway as if he were 
far less than sober. His battered hat was cocked full 
over his eyes. His ragged, dust colored cloak drawn 
up to his chin as if he had no more than a shirt beneath. 

The shadows deepened fast. Even the wider 
street was dim now and the alleys gloomed black. 
Out of her father’s house tripped Matilda duly: 
but (to some one’s dismay) Barbara was with her. 
That was in no way upon the programme, which had 
plainly forgotten the very feminine nature of Barbara. 
It was too late to change. The girls were crossing 
the head of the Maarsman Steeg (you conceive the 
professor’s pulses throbbing two paces away) when 
231 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


out from the beershop leapt the swashbuckler. He 
thrust Barbara away, he caught Matilda up roughly, 
he whirled her off into the shadows, he had a rude 
hand at her neck. . . . But even as she screamed 
and Barbara, the professor rushed upon him madly 
like a bull and like a bull roaring. The swash- 
buckler flung Matilda down, leapt back a sword’s 
length into darker gloom, flicked out his own sword, 
shot a pass through the thick of the professor’s sword 
arm and darted off down the alley to the river. 

Precisely twenty-five seconds after, Raoul, splendid 
as Raoul was wont to be, with cloak of black velvet 
and close velvet cap, arrived breathless at the head of 
the Maarsman Steeg crying: “ Sangdieu, brave sword! 
Villain of hell! where has he marked you?” and he 
caught the professor’s wounded arm from the tremu- 
lous hands of Matilda. Then as men and women 
poured from the houses and crowded around: “Away, 
name of God! Away!” Raoul cried with a sweep of 
his arm. “Pursue the villain! Thither he fled! 
Some broken Italian rogue of Vitelli’s, by his air. 
Nay, fie, lass, bear up. ’Tis nothing of a wound, and 
that hell hound that wronged you bears a deeper 
mark I’ll swear.” Raoul cut the sleeve away from 
the blood. 

Old Hendrik van Uden came waddling, buffeting 
232 


RAOTJL’S PROFESSOR 


his way through the press. “Here, now, here, herring 
bellies, what is all this? Where is my maid?” 

“Van Uden! The very man! You know more of 
a sword thrust than I do myself. Take a look at 
this.” Raoul thrust the professor’s bloody arm under 
the old man’s nose. “And as for your maid, why 
here she is safe. What she might have been but for 
this good fellow’s trick of swordsmanship, God 
knows.” 

“Ah, God knows!” That thrilling echo came 
from Barbara. Raoul stiffened. 

“Thunder of heaven!” said old Van Uden. Then 
critically over the wound. “It is a good thrust.” 
Then looking up to the professor’s face. “And it is 
you. So!” (His brain worked with difficulty.) 
“ Come in to my house. I will bind that up. And 
where is my maid? Come!” 

So the professor and Matilda and Barbara and 
Raoul went back with him, and half the crowd hunted 
for the swashbuckler and the other half cursed him. 
The villainies of broken soldiers of fortune, debauched 
Southern bullies were bitterly common. 

Once inside in the candle light Van Uden pounced 
on his daughter and peered at her minutely. She 
trembled a little. “So. You are not hurt,” he said 
at length and turned to the professor. “But you — 
233 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


heaven! — you are bleeding all over. my floor. Come 
here!” 

“A most damnable, foul thrust,” said Raoul, 
dropping into a comfortable chair and spreading him- 
self, but keeping the corner of an eye toward Barbara. 

“Oh, a true villain,” Barbara echoed. 

“But, by my faith, as fine a fight as ever I saw!” 
cried Raoul. Van Uden looked up from his business 
with linen and water. “ Look you, the hell hound had 
the girl in the dark of the alley. Our friend here 
runs at him, but the beast flung the girl between him- 
self and the steel and our friend was baulked of his 
first passato. But he came on like Le Balafr6 or 
yourself and with another instant the villain had been 
dead meat: the accursed hell hound! he sank himself 
under the point and made to stab the girl. By heaven, 
it was a miracle of a stoccata put that by ; but to save 
her, our friend over-reached himself and the hound 
was through his arm. Then up I came and he fled 
for his life.” 

The professor’s jaw dropped to hear what miracles 
the professor had done. His eyes were wondrous 
round. But old Van Uden stopped in his bandaging 
to slap his thigh mightily and chuckle. Then he 
grabbed the hand of the professor’s unwounded arm 
and wrung it with vigor. 

234 


RAOUL’S PROFESSOR 


“Indeed it is a marvelous story,” said Barbara in 
a still, small voice. And it is to be feared that she 
looked at Raoul with admiration. 

“Why, faith, if ever a man won a maid with the 
sword, there he sits,” said Raoul carelessly. 

Now it was Van Uden’s jaw that dropped. He 
gasped slightly. Then vigorously again he shook the 
professor’s hand. 

Raoul rose. “Well, I could not leave a wounded 
swordsman in wiser hands. Give you good night, sir, 
and swift healing. A good night to all. Come, 
Barbara, since there are knaves abroad to-night you 
had best walk in my company.” 

Barbara rose meekly. “I feel just as if I should see 
the villain,” said she. 

Raoul shook his head. “I could hardly hope for 
such pleasure.” 

“ Oh, I know the sight of him would delight you,” 
said Barbara passing behind him to kiss Matilda — 
who clung to her, who was in tears. 

Raoul saluted her: “It is my infinite grief that 
I could not be your champion. But one cannot 
be everything. And probably you would rather I 
was not. A good night.” 

Once out and away : “ You are really very wicked,” 

said Barbara, with a joyful gurgle, “and ” 

235 


16 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


“And you,” said Raoul severely, “are obtrusive. 
It is the worst fault in a woman.” 

“What is a woman without faults?” said Barbara. 
“I knew you had a secret. So I had to be every- 
where it might be.” 

“ Which is to say, everywhere you were not wanted.” 
“You will forget I am a woman,” said Barbara 
sadly. “Well, it is fair, for you are not a man but 
a brother. Oh, and you were cruel to the professor.” 

“In providing him with Matilda and matrimony? 
You play the cynic. He thinks he has come to bliss. 
Perhaps he has. It takes so little to fill some men.” 

“You know I did not mean that,” said Barbara. 
“And I believe you did not mean what you did. I 
believe you fumbled the thrust.” 

“ That,” said Raoul, “ was a slight tribute to veracity. 
The professor pays it, as a man must who marries.” 

“You are certainly not moral to-night,” said 
Barbara. 

“I despise the man who is afraid to sin,” quoth 
Raoul. “That is essential in my nature.” 


236 


CHAPTER IX 


raoul’s first love 

T HIS chapter is all the story of a woman whom 
down the ages honest men have scorned and 
good women loathed. I do not defend her. 
I tell the truth of her. 

* * * * * 

It would be more tedious to begin at the beginning. 
I begin, therefore, with His Highness the Prince of 
Parma. “Men say,” Raoul writes, “that the Prince 
of Parma never made a mistake. I profess he made 
two, which were worse than many. He never under- 
stood Providence or me. ” It appears (to leave Prov- 
idence out of the story) that Parma never understood 
precisely the principles of Raoul’s morality. You 
may have some sympathy with that failure. More 
than once, to more folks than one, Raoul had offered 
himself for sale. Parma made the mistake of inferr- 
ing that he could be bought. 

Raoul, no doubt, was worth buying. He had been 
going to and fro Delft and Nijmegen, helping John 
Newstead the Englishman and Martin Schenk the 
2 37 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


German to perfect their joint and several plans for 
the summer campaign. Raoul was in all their 
secrets. And the Prince of Parma desired to be like 
him. 

So you should conceive of Raoul in the terribly 
clean upper chamber of a Nijmegen inn regarding 
with benignity a Walloon of square, dumb face. The 
Walloon has just presented a letter from the Prince of 
Parma which offers Raoul a hundred crowns for an 
account of the plans of Schenk and Newstead, and a 
thousand crowns more when time shall have proved 
his account true: one hundred crowns, as Raoul be- 
hind his benign smile was reflecting, for being a 
traitor, one thousand for being an honest traitor. 
“So, my friend,” says he to his Walloon, “you are a 
spy come a-bribing. And what if I say two words to 
Martin Schenk and have you thrown from the nearest 
steeple?” 

“You would not get any crowns,” said the 
Walloon. 

“I see,” said Raoul, “that you estimate me justly.” 
His smile became more benign. “And Parma was 
confident I would earn his money?” The Walloon 
grinned and chuckled. Raoul also chuckled. “ Par- 
dieu, I will,” said he; and he turned away, and wrote 
with flourishes and pauses of ecstasy to contemplate 
238 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


his composition. . . . The letter was sealed. With 
one hand Raoul offered it to the Walloon, the other 
he held out for the hundred crowns. 

The Walloon dandled the money and tapped the 
letter: “There is in this,” he inquired, “what His 
Highness wishes?” 

“It will gratify him,” said Raoul, taking the money, 
“marvelously.” 

A while after, when the good Walloon had won 
back to Tilburg, and gave Parma the letter and 
stood before His Highness smirking, he was mightily 
amazed. For Parma started up yelling an oath, and 
he caught the Walloon by the throat and shook him 
as a terrier shakes a rat while he felt for his dagger. 
Then doubtless our Walloon had ended his life but 
for the Marquis of Richebourg, who, alarmed by the 
noise, broke in and stayed Parma’s hand. “Your 
Highness would do the rogue much honor by killing 
him,” said he. 

Parma flung the man from him and turned away 
muttering. His face was purple about the cheek- 
bones, his eyes dilated. The Walloon felt at his neck 
and coughed and sputtered. “Silence, rogue!” cried 
Richebourg: and then to Parma: “What is his of- 
fence, sir?” The Walloon looked, and no doubt was, 
injured. Parma, swearing, tapped Raoul’s letter. 
239 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOKTUNE 


Richebourg took it up. These were the words that 
had in truth gratified Parma marvellously: 

To H. H. the Prince of Parma — these. 

I have the honor obediently to inform Your Highness 
of the plans of the commanders John Newstead and Martin 
Schenk. On receiving Your Highness’s promise to turn your 
coat, to bring over your troops to their victorious standards, 
and to join with them in assailing your ass’s tyranny, the power of 
Spain, their Excellencies will pay Your Highness one hundred 
crowns: adding one thousand crowns when Your High- 
ness’s promise is performed. I am assured that Your High- 
ness’s nature is such as to grasp at this generous proffer, which 
I take leave to assure Your Highness’s modesty is not less than 
a fair price for Your Highness. 

And I have the honor to be, etc., etc., 

Raoul de Tout le Monde. 

One hundred crowns to be a traitor, one thousand 
crowns to be an honest traitor. Raoul, you see, 
treated Parma as a man and a brother. Richebourg, 
savoring the humor of it, smiled behind the letter, 
and over the top of it looked at Parma. Parma was 
stamping about the room with his wrath. Richebourg 
turned to the Walloon: “Away with you, sirrah. 
To the guard-room !” 

“Sir! Guard-room, sir?” the Walloon stammered 
in a hurry of fear. “Why, sir, I did my orders. 
This Raoul, sir, he told me he had writ what His 
Highness wished.” Parma turned and fumed upon 
240 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOYE 


him. “Well, sir— why, sir?” the Walloon protested; 
“he took the hundred crowns.” 

That, after all the rest, was too much for Parma. 
He sprang at the Walloon, yelling oaths again, and 
the poor Walloon stumbled back and fled. 

In these so different ways did Raoul and the Prince 
of Parma receive the flattering proposals of each to 
buy the other. Raoul’s way, you observe, was the 
more profitable. 

Richebourg, who had with effort quenched a chuckle, 
reflected pensively that the Prince of Parma was 
blind to humor, and waited for him to cool. 

“The hell’s insolence of it!” Parma was coherent 
at last. “To propose treachery to me! To offer me 
a price!” more oaths intervened. “Ah, I would I 
had him here!” He stalked to and fro, twisting his 
long fingers and muttering of torture. 

Richebourg reflected. “It might be done,” he 
said, half to himself. “They say the little poppet 
loves to peacock it about a woman. We might trap 
him so. There is Gertrude Mol.” 

This is that Gertrude Mol whom the chronicles 
have given to shame. She was as fair a woman, they 
say, as the world has seen — a child-woman, fragile 
and dainty. She stood to the height of a man’s lips, 
and a woman’s form could scarce be more slender 


241 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


than hers. She was crowned — she could be veiled 
when she wished — with ripling, flaxen hair. Her 
skin was like milk, her lips a red rose, and her eyes 
dark as the shadowed sea. She had the pure, fear- 
less face of a child. And the chroniclers call her 
Circe and Tarpeia and Cleopatra, and many another 
worse name. 

She was the daughter of the syndic of Breda, and 
just come to womanhood when Parma cast covetous 
eyes upon the town. Parma sent a young Italian 
captain, Lodovico Mondaleschi, to spy out its weak- 
ness, and Lodovico, who was certainly a gentleman of 
ingenuity, turned to Gertrude Mol. Lodovico was a 
pretty person, too — I have that on Raoul’s word — he 
had an air and some power, I suppose, with his tongue. 
He made the girl love him unto surrender. Lodovico 
did not want her — he was a cold-blooded Italian of 
Machiavelli’s school — he wanted Breda. When the 
girl’s passion flamed he held aloof till he had her dis- 
traught to win him. He never took more than a 
kiss of her, but he robbed her of more than honor. 
For he persuaded her to let the Spaniards into Breda, 
to betray her own people, her own father. 

It was all done for the hope that Messer Lodovico 
might deign to take her. On a dark autumn night 
she filched from her father, the syndic, the keys of the 
242 


EAOUL’S FIKST LOYE 


postern gate, and stole out and opened it to Lodovico. 
Parma’s men stormed in. There was a massacre 
(Spanish and Italian soldiery in a Dutch town never 
failed of that). Her father was killed, fighting des- 
perately a hopeless fight, and hundreds more, her kin, 
her friends, men and women of her town. Gertrude 
Mol sat alone in a lonely house all that night, with the 
wild shrieks torturing her, trembling for what she had 
done, and praying that Lodovico might be safe. . . . 
When dawn broke upon the ghastly streets the town 
was still. The women had been taught not to wail. 
Gertrude Mol sat by her window looking out over the 
dead — looking for Lodovico, hoping, longing. He 
did not come. 

She was worn with fear. He might be dead, he 
might be lying in torment. At last she dared the 
streets, and went out to seek him. The streets were 
still enough. Parma’s soldiery were sleeping off their 
debauch of slaughter. She met only wild-eyed women, 
who trembled and cowered at a sound and were dumb. 
She went by a pathway of blood amid the dead. 

At the Spanish bivouac in the market-place she 
asked for Lodovico, and they mocked at her with foul 
jests. Lodovico came laughing. She ran to him 
aflame with love, but he held her off. “ Softly, or- 
phan,” he cried. “I have no more kisses to waste.” 

243 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“Lodovico!” she gasped, shivering. “But I did 
it — I did it — and ’twas for you.” 

“Ay, orphan. And done it is, and my kisses are 
done, too. You are no more use to me. Oh, but 
you shall have the honor of it.” He whirled her 
round into the midst of the ring of officers. “Look 
you, gentlemen! Here is the maid who gave us her 
father to kill and her town to take for the sake of my 
beautiful eyes and my sweet lips. Who wants the 
orphan?” He thrust her into one man’s arms, and 
he again to another’s. Dazed with shame and grief, 
the girl was bandied about the ring, while they 
laughed and jeered at her. At last,' with a shriek 
like a wounded hare, she broke away, and ran wildly 
to the desolate home. 

Then came days of anguish. The Spanish soldiery 
patrolling the town would stop before her window 
and shout up taunts and bestial jibes. Her servants 
cursed her and left her. When she stole out in the 
twilight to crave food, the women, widows and child- 
less mothers, reviled her and spat upon her. 

She had to flee the town or die. I do not like what 
she did, but what she should have done I cannot tell. 
She stole away to Parma, and pled for a pittance to 
keep her alive. He thought, I suppose, that it would 
serve him but ill to let one who had played the traitor 
244 


EAOUL’S FIKST LOYE 


for him starve. He may even have pitied her. He 
gave her a pension. 

She began to live at Tilburg. The Spanish officers 
showed her an easy scorn : who could respect Gertrude 
Mol? Then they saw she was beautiful. Then 
she made a lure of that wonderful pure beauty of hers 
and her grace, and kept them all dangling about her. 
When the turn of her white neck, the glint of her hair 
made a man grow tender, she laughed at him, then 
tempted him again and laughed again. She had the 
men who scorned her quarreling with each other for a 
touch of her hand. She amused herself in making 
men stupid and *base. Whether she was as gay as she 
seemed those may judge who know women. 

Such was her life when Richebourg came to her 
and proposed that she should be the bait of a trap to 
catch Raoul. There was a high price offered, and 
that may have tempted her, for she loved silk and 
soft living. Or it may be that she was glad to ruin a 
man by the same cheat of love that had ruined her. 
She went joyfully to Nijmegen, to Raoul. 

On a fair spring morning Raoul was lounging 
through the market-place. “I beheld,” says he, “the 
most delectable of all women, save one. She had 
the lithe womanhood of a man’s dreams. It 
was cloth-of-silver she wore, and she had in it the 

245 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


grace of the queen of heaven. ” He made an occasion 
to look in her face. The innocent loveliness of it took 
him captive. Gertrude Mol passed on with her inno- 
cence, and he followed. 

There was a man with a panier of live larks to sell. 
Gertrude stopped and spoke to the birds, and at once 
the man put a price on them and began to praise them. 
They were young birds, fine birds, fat birds — they 
would come luscious from the spit. Raoul saw the 
delicate face shudder. The next moment she had 
given the man all he asked, and he was gaping at the 
money and her folly. Then she had the panier in her 
hand and was walking swiftly away. Raoul followed 
still, and heard her talk to the fluttering birds as a 
mother talks to her children. 

Raoul strode in front of her. “ A thousand pardons. 
May I bear your burden?” 

Of course she started in shy surprise. “Oh — oh! 
I thank you. But I like to bear my own burdens. ” 

“A selfish pleasure,” said Raoul: “I demand a 
share,” and he put his hand on hers on the panier. 
She clung to it still. 

“But you take all I have,” she protested. 

“Such is my intent,” said Raoul, with his bold eyes 
on hers. She looked away. Raoul took a firmer 
grip of the panier. “And whither now?” 

246 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


“By your leave, sir, I go my own way.” 

“I would not yet suggest that you should go mine,” 
said Raoul, and kept hold of her and her panier. 

She bit her lip, a dimple trembled in her chin — then 
laughter conquered her. “Oh, but you are — you 
are so unlikely. Come, then. I was going outside 
the walls and the gates, out where there is only earth 
and sky — with these.” She smiled down on the 
larks. 

Raoul bowed, and walked close at her side, and his 
eyes devoured every line and tint of her loveliness. 
It roused his heart and brain like wine. His swarthy 
cheeks flushed. He began to talk of the magnificent 
deeds of his magnificent self. 

Gertrude knew the symptoms well, and assisted the 
disease. Her lips parted, her breath came quick, 
her bosom trembled. Shy glances gave him the praise 
that modesty forbade her speak. The heart of that 
fair body, he could see, throbbed to his. He was 
enraptured. 

They had gone out by the main gate. They were 
climbing the green slopes above the river. Raoul at 
the end of a magniloquent tale had paused for effect. 
“You are splendid,” she murmured — to herself of 
course — and gazed at him with wide wondering eyes. 
Raoul smiled at her. 


247 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Then with a start, “Oh, but you have made me 
forget them altogether, ” she cried. “ My poor larks ! ” 
She took the panier from Raoul’s hand and swept a 
glance across wide land and sky: “Here — there are 
no walls and gates here. It is all open and free. 
Come, my dears. ” She bent to open the panier, and 
the birds fluttered in wild fright. Then they found 
their way out. From tuft to swaying tuft of grass 
they went, little brown bodies calling to each other. 
One tried its wings and soared away to the white 
dazzling eye of the sun. Its song poured down clear 
and sweet. 

Raoul was looking at the woman. Her cheeks 
were flushed, her eyes shining. I think that some 
of her delight was not feigned. She turned to Raoul 
quickly and pointed up to the tiny singer. “ Is he not 
dear?” she cried. “Does he not make you glad you 
are free? Oh, that is the best joy in the world — to 
be out of bonds, to have your will of yourself, to use 
yourself as you choose, to . . .” Her voice 

quavered suddenly, and her color changed. 

“Beyond doubt it is good,” said Raoul, watching 
her curiously. “But you, lady, what can you know 
of any other fate?” 

Gertrude Mol, who was bound forever by shame, 
who could never again use herself as she chose, turned 
248 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


on him, white, wild-eyed, and gave a bitter laugh. 
Then she mastered herself and went on with her cheat. 

“ Ah, sir” (a sigh), “ I know what it is to be in a cage 

like my birds. I am Judith Hals from Li6ge ” 

With that she began a most pretty story. She was 
an orphan richly left, you must know, and the com- 
mandant of Liege had claimed her as his ward. He 
had kept her close for months, he had forbidden her 
speech of woman or man without his leave, so that he 
might keep her safe to wed her and her dower to the 
man who would pay him most for her. Oh, indeed, 
she knew what it was to be in chains! And it was 
vile, vile! At last she thought she might save her- 
self from the commandant’s wardship by claiming 
to be the ward of another. She wrote to the Prince 
of Parma. 

“ Diantrel ” cried Raoul: “from the grid to the 
coals!” 

She gave a little joyous laugh. “ Oh, I am terribly 
cunning,” said she. 

Parma had replied, she went on, with an order to 
send her and her dowry to him at Tilburg. The com- 
mandant blasphemed, but obeyed. He put her on 
board one of a flotilla of boats dropping down the 
Maas. 

“Then I,” said she, with a wicked smile, “was 
249 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


very pleasant to the captain of my boat. ” This man, 
her credible story ran, was charmed and persuaded 
to cut his boat loose when the flotilla was moored for 
the night at Venloo, to steal off down stream. With 
the morning they landed, bought horses, and laden 
with the dower, struck north for Martin Schenk’s 
country. Safe, mistress of herself and her dower, 
she had come to Nijmegen. 

Such was the story she told Raoul. And I know 
nothing cleverer of Gertrude Mol than that. It was 
most aptly designed to beguile the man. Your weak, 
pathetic women, always in distress, always sucking a 
man’s strength, had no charm for him. But here was 
a woman with red blood in her veins, a woman of wit 
and resource to outdo a man. His heart was hers to 
take. 

And he was urgent for hers. That day, as they 
walked back past the great hospital, where women 
whom the war had bereft of husbands and kinsfolk 
tended the wounded in war, Raoul was mightily 
ardent. Day by day after he was at her side, dining 
with her at her lodging in the Spoor Straat, sailing 
with her on the Waal, walking with her on the hills 
without the town, alone with her and earth and sky. 
She held him daintily aloof, yet never let him think 
her cold. 


250 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


Sometimes I fancy that she drew out those days 
longer than need was — that something in Raoul 
had waked her heart. I know she must have been 
sneering at his folly from first to last. And yet I 
doubt there was more in her mind than a sneer. 

On a wayward spring afternoon they were walking 
by a backwater of the Waal. The tiny waves glistened 
and flung back the kingcups’ gold, the willows were 
white in the breeze. 

“And have you thought better of love ?” says Raoul. 

“ Love ? Ah, love is a gaoler. I can only be happy 
free. ” 

“Why, unless you love you cannot be free. The 
best of freedom is to use every power you have. Till 
you love you are in bonds, you are chained down. 
Dear heart, unless you love, your sweet self is of 
no effect. God forbid that! Love me, dear, and 
live. ” His arm went about her, he drew her frag- 
rant against his side. 

“Faith, one is harder than the other,” she says 
with her wicked smile. “Dear sir, I fear my cruel 
self could live without you — and perhaps more 
piously — more quietly for certain.” 

“Live without me? You would never have the 
heart. ” 

“And how do you know there is any heart in me?” 

17 251 


A GENTLEMAN OF FOETUNE 


“ Mordieu , I will try!” He caught her to him 
fiercely and kissed her mouth. “ Does the heart an- 
swer, rogue?” 

She blushed: her eyes wavered, tried to shun his 
and could not. “God help me!” she muttered, and 
gasped for breath, trying to loose herself. Raoul 
kissed her again before he let her go. Once free, she 
was quickly cool. 

“Oh, but I am honored,” she said and laughing 
made him a curtsey. “I shall always be proud that 
I made so great a man deign two kisses for poor Judith 
Hals.” 

“She can multiply them at will,” said Raoul, tak- 
ing her in his arms again. 

She leant away from him, laughing. “Alack, sir, 
the poor lass knows naught of mathematics.” 

“ Mine the joy of teaching her. And does she know 
that debts must be paid?” 

“Debts?” she asked. Raoul held up two fingers. 
“Oh!” She was in a pretty confusion. Then she 
laughed at him. “You shall ask me for them to- 
morrow.” 

“And why not this hour?” 

“Because — because — ” again she was delectably 
shy — “because, sir, I am afraid to be alone with you 
too long.” 


252 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOYE 


Raoul held her close against him a moment. 
“ Love, ” he said softly, and let her go. 

Gertrude Mol laughed. 

So they went back to the town and away to her 
lodging in the Spoor Straat, beyond the great hospital. 
There at the gates stood some of the nursing women, 
those sad -eyed women who gave their lives to the 
care of the men that suffered for the country’s sake. 
Raoul saluted them gravely. But Gertrude Mol 
hurried by with averted eyes. Her work, her life, 
showed ill against theirs. She hated them for that. 
She hated Raoul for honoring them. 

In a moment she was at her own door. “Till 
to-morrow, sweet,” said Raoul in a low voice, and 
kissed her hand. 

Gertrude Mol laughed again. “Good-bye,” she 
said. For so Lodovico Mondaleschi had kissed her 
hand the night before she betrayed her honor for him. 
I fancy her calling Raoul fool, and sneering at him 
and herself and all the world. In cynical misery she 
turned to finish her work. 

It was past noon on the next day; Raoul was strid- 
ing out of Martin Schenk’s quarters, when an 
orderly ran at him with a letter. “By the hand 
of a dusty peasant, sir,” he explained. “From 
Neerbosch. ” 


253 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


The seal was a shapeless blot of wax. Raoul broke 
it, and found written in a quavering hand this: 

Dear 

I am hurt sore. I was riding out hitherward and my 
horse fell upon me. I am much in pain. Come. 

Judith. 

At Neerbosch, in the inn. 

I think it was well written. I do not wonder she 
counted on it to bring Raoul to her hotfoot. But she 
made the mistake of forgetting that Raoul for all his 
ardor was a practical man. If, while his heart throbbed 
wildly for her pain, his first thought was to gallop 
to Neerbosch, his second was to take her her maid. 

So off he ran to the Spoor Straat and up the stairs 
to her lodging. He broke in — then started back 
amazed. For the room was bare of all its trin- 
kets and dainty finery. Three packhorse paniers 
stood corded and ready for the road, and the maid was 
thrusting things into a fourth. “ Cordieu ,” Raoul 
cried, “what thievery is this?” 

Flushed, surprised, the maid looked up. “ Thievery, 
forsooth!” says she, with a toss of her head. “Thief 
yourself! ’Tis my mistress’s own order.” Then 
“Oh!” she gasped, and clapped her hand to her 
mouth. Nervously she began to tell a wild, impossible, 
halting tale. Raoul leapt at her, he caught her wrists 
254 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


and harshly demanded the truth. At first she babbled 
incoherent nothings, twisting herself in his grip. 
Slowly he brought his eyes close to hers . . . she 

grew still . . . she breathed heavily. “ The truth 

now!” said Raoul through his teeth. And the truth 
came. 

Her mistress had bidden her gather all their chattels 
and bring them on packhorses to Ravestein by way of 
Neerbosch 

“And why Ravestein?” Raoul growled. The 
woman shuddered. “Why Ravestein?” he insisted. 
“Why? . . . Why? . . . Why?” 

“ ’Tis the way to Tilburg,” she gasped. 

“Tilburg?” Raoul roared; for all men knew that 
Parma was there. “Tilbuig? What have you to do 
with Tilburg?” 

“We — we — we came from there.” 

Raoul’s face was white. He gripped her so hard 
that she screamed with pain. “Who are you, then, 
i’ God’s name?” he said hoarsely. 

“ She is Gertrude Mol, ” the woman moaned. “ Oh, 
let me go, let me go!” 

Raoul flung her away from him, and she fell against 
the wall sobbing. Raoul glared down at her, and he 
clenched his hands till the nails pierced his flesh. 
“Stay here, ” he said at last; “speak no word of this, 
255 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


or you hang. Mark me! Silent, or you hang;” and 
he swung on his heel and out. 

Gertrude Mol — his love Gertrude Mol ? The 
traitress, the scorn of all Holland! He smarted with 
shame and wounded pride. Her tenderness had 
been all a cheat, then? She had tricked him into 
passion, she had taken his love to sneer at it. She — 
she had made a mock of him — of Raoul de Tout le 
Monde! For a moment he hated her enough to put 
her to torture. . . . Then hate was quenched in 

grief. His heart was torn asunder. Oh, that she, his 
love, his queen, should be false and base — she whom he 
worshiped! “ Would to God it were I in her stead!” 
he muttered. “ Oh, my God, I would it had been I!” 

The letter from Neerbosch; what did it mean? 
Cordieu , it must mean that she was drawing him 
within Parma’s reach. She was Parma’s hired lure — 
his love. . . . He groaned, and his eyes were wet. 

. . . Well, he would seek her still. He would fight 

it out to the end. 

Off he went to Martin Schenk. He had tidings of 
the enemy at Neerbosch, he said. He asked for a 
troop of horse. Martin Schenk gave him a squadron. 

While a troop of Richebourg’s Walloons rode into 
Neerbosch Gertrude Mol lay at her ease in the inn. 
She thought her work well done, and laughed over it. 
256 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


Oh, she had fooled him finely, for all his wits! She 
herself had not been more a mock than he would be, 
the little swaggerer. Yes! She had paid some of her 
debt to men. The trick that had ruined her was not 
more comical than this. And she made herself laugh 
again. But her face was pale and her laughter rang 
strangely. . . . She hid her face in her hands a 

moment . . . then forced a smile and a sneer. She 
must laugh — she must laugh — or she would be in 
agony. Wild thoughts were torturing her. What if 
she had broken loose from Parma — what, then he 
would have wedded her eagerly, and she would have 
been at peace, with a man who honored her, whom 
she might easily — yes, so easily — learn to love. . . . 

At peace? No, never in life. Some day he must 
have heard the truth of her, some day turned on her 
and cast her out with scorn. There was no hope of 
happiness with him. 

She laughed again. Poor little man! She was 
best rid of him before she loved him much. 

Suddenly she started and paled, and caught at her 
throat. There came from the stair a gay laugh that 
she knew too well. 

It was Lodovico Mondaleschi. He strode in deb- 
onair, laughing. He made her a low salute of 
mockery. 


257 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“What have you to do here?” she gasped. 

“I came to give you joy on the way you have bet- 
tered my instruction. What! There is nothing like a 
kiss to fool woman or man, is there, sweeting?” He 
tapped her cheek, and she shrank from him, red and 
shuddering. “But I confess ’tis comelier when the 
woman cheats — when the woman’s kisses are the 
liars. Eh, yours were true enough once, were they not, 
sweet? Have you any left for me now?” 

“No! No! No!” she cried, all trembling. 

“ Madonna , here is coyness! And once you would 
give me more than I cared to take. ” He laughed at 
her shame. “Tell me, does this Raoul love you as 
well as you loved me? How much will he hate you 
when Parma burns him?” 

Gertrude started up and faced him, one hand at 
her throat. Her lips were tight pressed and white. 
Lodovico laughed heartily. She struck at him. 
And while he warded off the blow there came 
suddenly a yell — “The guard! The guard!”: the 
thunder of hurrying horses: then the clash and grate 
of steel and the roar of the Dutch war-cry, “ Vive le 
gens!” 

Lodovico turned with an oath and ran out. 

There is no story to tell of the fight — the fight of 
that troop that came to catch one man and caught a 
258 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOYE 


squadron. Martin Schenk’s horsemen found the 
Walloons dismounted out of order, took them in front 
and rear, and slew. 

From that whirl of slaughter Lodovico Mondaleschi 
fled. I do not deny him courage. No man could 
have been so good a spy without courage. But his 
was not the courage that fights. Livid, foaming, 
blaspheming, he came again to Gertrude Mol: he 
screamed a volume of foul words at her, stammering 
in mad wrath. She laughed. He plucked out his 
sword and run at her. 

Then she flung wide her arms and gave a great glad 
cry. “Kill me! Kill me!” 

He checked. He faltered. 

Raoul burst in, his sword and dagger dripping 
blood. 

Lodovico Mondaleschi screamed and flung his 
sword away, and cast himself down and clung about 
Gertrude Mol’s knees. “Save me! Save me!” he 
moaned. 

Gertrude, white and still, was looking into Raoul’s 
flaming eyes. “I am Gertrude Mol,” she said. “I 
tried to betray you to death.” 

A moment more Raoul gazed at her: then he flung 
back his head like a beast in pain, and strode 
forward and gripped Lodovico. Lodovico clung 
259 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


the closer to Gertrude, and “Save me!” he shrieked, 
“save me!” 

Gertrude Mol laughed a little. “Oh, yes. Save 
him!” she said. 

“Who is he?” Raoul growled. 

“Lodovico Mondaleschi. ” 

“Lodovico Mondaleschi! Who — who ” 

“Who loved me.” She laughed. “Who loves 
me now.” 

“Yes! I love you. Indeed I love you,” Lodovico 
shrieked. “Gertrude, dear— — ” 

Some wild cry broke from Raoul. He wrenched 
the man away from Gertrude, and dragged him out. 
Still he shrieked for mercy. Raoul’s face was working : 
his red sword-blade shivered under his hand. He had 
Lodovico out to the street among the dead, and glared 
at him a moment with the blood lust in his eyes. Then 
he muttered an oath and flung the man staggering 
away. He shouted to two troopers and bade them 
set Lodovico safe on the Tilburg road. 

Lodovico, fairly away from the fight, curled his 
moustachios again. He was well pleased with him- 
self. He laughed and laughed most heartily at the 
stupidity of women and the invincible affection of 
Gertrude Mol. So he went happily on to Tilburg. 
And there, as I like to remember, Parma, wildly wroth 
260 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOYE 


that the trap had failed, that a fine troop of horse had 
been utterly destroyed, was yet more wroth with 
Lodovico for being saved, was convinced that the 
Dutchmen, who spared no one else, would never have 
spared Lodovico unless he were privately their friend — 
in fine, the excellent Prince of Parma hanged Messer 
Lodovico for a traitor. 

Among the dead in Neerbosch Raoul sheathed his 
sword, and slowly, heavily, climbed the stair again. 
Gertrude stood awaiting him. They looked at each 
other long. “You know everything now,” she said 
defiantly. “Everything!” Raoul did not answer or 
move. He gazed at her still, with sad, dull eyes. She 
swayed and fell into the chair, and hid her face. 
“Speak!” she sobbed. “Oh, I cannot bear it! 
Speak! Curse me!” 

“Dear!” Raoul whispered. He was at her side, 
his arm was around her. “Dear love ” 

She shuddered, she started away from him. “ Not 
that!” she cried wildly. “Never again!” 

“Ay, again and again and again,” Raoul held 
her still. “Dear love, you have come to a new life 
now. This past is past and dead, and you must 
forget ” 

She laughed bitterly: “Who can forget?” 

“I have forgot,” Raoul said. . . . “Now you 

261 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


must live again, live to love me.” He drew her 
closer, he bent to kiss her. 

With both arms straining against his breast she 
held herself away. “I dare not!” she cried. “God 
help me, I dare not!” 

“Nay, dare, for my sake. Forget, for my sake. 
How can I be happy else? Oh, dear heart, could 
you not be happy loving me?” 

But still she held herself away. “I dare not,” she 
sobbed. “I dare not.” 

“Why, then?” Raoul cried, staring at her. 

“Ah!” she gave a cry of pain. “You make me say 
it. I — I am too vile.” 

“Never say that again! Dear, how can you dare? 
I love you. I love you. ” 

Her throat, her lips were quivering; she could not 
speak. But still she strained away from his arms. 
“What now?” Raoul cried. . . . Suddenly his face 
hardened. “ Mordieul This — this fellow — this Lo- 
dovico, you do not love him still ?” 

She started, and was still again. She waited a 
moment ere she spoke. Looking furtively at Raoul, 
she made ready her lie. It was the noblest moment 
in her life. “Yes, I love him still,” she said in a low 
voice. But no blush came, and steadily, covertly she 
watched Raoul. 


262 


RAOUL’S FIRST LOVE 


Raoul had let her go at the word, and flung away 
from her. “Would you follow him, then?” he said 
through his teeth. 

“ No ! ” she cried. “ No, I swear it ! I had rather die 
than wed him. . . . And yet . . . and yet 

I love him, you see.” She peered at Raoul’s face, 
and saw the pain on it: then gave a passionate cry: 
“ Oh, why do you not kill me ? I would love you for 
that. Death! death! Is it not my due?” 

Raoul strode up and down gnawing his lip. She 
ran to him, caught his arm. “ Raoul, what is my life 
but misery? What is there for me but death?” 

“Death?” Raoul turned on her, and his face, his 
voice were stern. “Death is easy. Would you die 
with nothing done ? Would you die with your life no 
fairer than ’tis now?” 

She trembled, and drew away from him crying. 
Raoul stood still, and gazed at her steadily, grave and 
sad. . . . 

After a while, “You are right,” she said. “I— I 
would like to do something not vile before I die 
4 . . if ... if God will let me.” 

On a morning of the early summer Gertrude Mol 
under the name of Judith Hals went into the great 
hospital at Nijmegen to give herself to the care of those 
263 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


who suffered in the war. Raoul kissed her hand at the 
gate, and she passed from the sunshine into the gloom, 
and saw him no more in life. 

That is the true story of Gertrude Mol. Some 
strange folks who have read it say that she never 
loved Raoul. 


264 


CHAPTER X 


raoul's hosts 

I PICK this chapter out of two manuscripts. One 
lies at Dresden in the Saxon archives (and how 
it came there no one professes even to guess); 
the other is my old ally, Raoul's “History of Myself.” 
They agree altogether — an achievement most unusual 
in manuscripts. 

The manuscript at Dresden is a poem written with 
great vigor and humor in a patois of German and 
Dutch. Its author was that Gaspar Wiederman, 
whom you have met already. I regret that the man- 
ners of a more prudish age restrain me from quoting 
all his verses. I should much like to have known him. 

Raoul begins the story. It was the autumn of 
1584, and William the Silent was dead, and the Prince 
of Parma was gathering his strength to besiege Ant- 
werp, and Raoul was in a bad temper. I think that 
must be why he dared what he did. For the deed was 
the most reckless of his life, save one; and in that there 
was a woman. Unfortunately this present little 
matter makes nothing in the telling. It was a lonely 
265 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


raid, like most of his. He went down to Kalloo, 
where Parma had his magazines and a dockyard with 
great store of timber. There must have been half 
a hundred in Parma’s force who knew him; and if 
one of them saw him, burning was the kindliest death 
he could hope for. Nevertheless the little man went. 
And one moonlight night he threw a pannikin of burn- 
ing charcoal into the powder magazine. The powder 
went to the heavens in splendor, and the flame of it 
caught the dockyard timber. In three hours three 
months’ work and the worth of fifty thousand florins 
were red ash. But before that, some one — to the end 
Raoul never knew who it was — some one saw his face 
in the glare, and gave the alarm, and tried to seize 
him. Raoul broke away, and dodged about the huts 
to his horse. All the rest of the night he rode north- 
ward, away from that yellow sky. Pursuit was left 
out of sight and hearing. Just before dawn he skirted 
round old Mondragon’s camp at Zwol. Most impu- 
dently he stole a fresh horse from the Spanish lines 
and left his tired beast in its stead. 

Then the sun rose orange in a dull grey sky. All 
the morning he rode on, and as the morning waned 
the sun faded. Wet fog came rolling from the sea. 
About noontide he could see a bare hundred yards 
through the greyness. 


266 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


And now the story begins to be a story. A farm 
steading loomed out of the fog, and Raoul, all weary, 
drew rein and rapped at the door with his dagger 
hilt. A square Dutchman came from the byre, a 
woman from the henhouse. The man gaped at him, 
and the woman’s eyes grew round and big. Raoul 
was mud from feather to spur — grey Scheldt mud 
underneath half overlaid with red gravel of Zwol: 
drooping feather, moustachios and little beard were 
gemmed with the fog dew. 

“Good folk, may I buy a meal and hire a bed?” 
he cried. 

“ Surely, sir, surely,” said the woman readily enough. 
(Raoul here thinks fit to point out that, dirty or clean, 
his shape ever took a woman’s eye.) 

“ Who may you be ? ” the man growled. 

“ One who will pay,” said Raoul. 

The man eyed him with distrust. “You are not 
Dutch.” 

“But my money is.” 

“I do not care for your money.” 

“Then you are not Dutch, either.” 

“And no one comes into my house unless I know 
who he is.” 

“I suppose the devil makes the same rule in hell,” 
said Raoul, and swung stiffly to the ground. “ Well, 
18 267 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


my friend, if I am not Dutch I am not anything else. 
I have no country and no name, and no victuals inside 
me. I want two pounds of meat and four hours of 
bed, and I pay two florins for all.” 

The Dutchman shook his square head. “I take 
no nameless man into my house. For what I know, 
you are a Spaniard ” 

“ Diantre , for what you know, I am an archangel!” 
Raoul stamped his foot. “You may call me Raoul 
if you want a name. I serve the Estates of Holland, 
and I come from troubling Parma’s rest. And now 
for God’s sake give me meat.” 

“You serve the Estates? Why did you not say 
it at first? You are welcome; ach, but you are very 
welcome indeed. Come in!” 

Very welcome they made him. All foul from the 
highway, he was brought to their speckless best room 
and put into the master’s chair. Off went the man 
to tend his horse, and the little buxom woman set 
all her farmhouse dainties before him and plied him 
till he could eat no more. Then she brought him to 
an upper room and a soft white bed with sheets all 
fragrant of thyme. He was asleep, he says, before 
he lay down. 

When he woke it was to hear the clatter of steel, to 
see men standing over him. They laughed at him 
268 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


as he gaped and rubbed his heavy eyes. Then he 
saw that they wore the yellow and red of Mondragon’s 
horse. 

“So, little devil, we have you in your earth,” says 
one genially in Spanish. 

Raoul had his wits about him again. “I do not 
understand,” says he in Dutch. “What do you want 
with me?” 

“We only want you.” 

“I am a trader of Bergen op Zoom, and ” 

A volley of oaths, and “You are a foul little liar. 
We have been hunting you all day.” 

Raoul shook his head. “You make a mistake, 
noble gentlemen. I am ” 

He was jerked on to the floor. “Up with you! 
We know who you are. You are that curst Dutch 
spy. They told us so downstairs.” 

“Oh, they told you?” 

“Yes, curse them. When we had offered to burn 
her husband the woman told us. Madre Dios , and 
I think we will burn him yet. I would like to see her 
face.” 

“You are benevolent.” Raoul sat down in his 
shirt on the bed. “And since you know who I am, 
most illustrious, who am I?” 

“You are the little rogue Parma sent us word to 
269 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


catch. That is enough for me. Back you come to 
Parma. You can tell him who you are.” 

“Let me honor him by wearing my breeches,” 
said Raoul. 

“Well. You will never put them on again.” The 
Spaniard chuckled. 

Raoul began his toilet. His stockings came on 
slowly, and were artistically gartered. Slowly he 
buttoned his breeches. The fog was thick without, 
and he did not try to see out of the window; but his 
head was cocked a little on one side, and he strained 
his ears to listen. Horses were champing and shifting 
their feet. 

“Now, where the devil are my boots?” said Raoul, 
and moved about looking for them. 

The Spaniards, too, peered round the room. 

Raoul snatched his sword from the bedside and 
hurled himself through the window. With a shiver 
of glass and a crash of timber he vanished into the 
fog. 

Some of them rushed at the window and struggled 
out, and began to climb down; some stumbled head- 
long down the stairs. But all were too late. Raoul 
had fallen on hands and knees in the mire. He 
sprang up again and darted at their waiting horses. 
His rapier shot through a man’s heart : he vaulted to a 
270 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


saddle, and shouted to the frightened beasts and beat 
them with his sword. In a moment they were all 
gone, flying wildly hither and thither through the fog. 
And Raoul was gone with them. 

“I think I never did better in my life,” Raoul 
writes. He was fairly away from them, a good horse 
between his thighs. They had their own horses to 
hunt before they could hunt him. At worst he had a 
quarter-hour’s law, and to give him that was to lose 
him forever. 

But he checked his pace. He was not content yet. 
He had also a little affair with his hosts — that dainty 
buxom little woman and her square suspicious spouse. 
They had betrayed him, of course. But if you think 
that troubled him you do not understand Raoul. 
He was altogether a man. He expected no one to be a 
martyr for his sake. It was they, not he, who seemed 
to him injured. He had brought the Spaniards 
down upon them, and left them to bear a Spanish 
revenge — death and torture and worse. He liked 
his doings to end in neat success. This was ugly, 
unseemly. It did not accord with his honor to leave 
it so. 

“My vanity,” he writes, “my vanity, so please you, 
turned my horse.” 

Over the turf warily he came back to the house. 
271 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


From all sides sound came to him out of the fog. 
The horse hunt, he guessed, was not going well. But 
he could see little. Something dark in the greyness 
close ahead was doubtless the steading. A horse 
came up to him and whinnied. He snatched its bridle 
and rode on. A shriek came from the house, and an- 
other. He heard the thud of feet, the crash of faggots 
against the ground, the creak of a rope on timber. 
But he dared not gallop. He saw the orchard fence 
only just in time to lift his horses for the jump. Then, 
stooping low for fear of low boughs, he broke through 
the trees. Tawny flame leapt up through the fog about 
the writhing body of a man who was hung by his feet 
from a tree. Around the fire a little knot of Spaniards 
were laughing and shouting. 

Raoul came. Two Spaniards were ridden down 
and his horses plunged upon them. Two more 
he caught on his sword as a cook spits pieces of meat. 
Raoul sprang down. His sword was fixed to the hilt 
in their gasping bodies. He plucked it out, and plunged 
into the fire, kicking the burning faggots this way 
and that, and slashed at the ropes from which the 
Dutchman hung. In a moment he had the man out of 
the smoke and flame, singed and gasping, but safe. 
Raoul tore a sword from one dying Spaniard and 
thrust it into the Dutchman’s hand. 

272 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


“Guard the horses l” he muttered. 

“My wife!” the man gasped, coughing: “my 
wife!” 

“One at a time,” said Raoul, and pattered off in 
his stockings. 

No one, it seemed, but the dead had seen or heard 
him. No one was there to see or hear. The clean, 
neat rooms were a filthy wreck now, but he found no 
one in them. Then he heard quick footsteps above, 
and darted up the stairs. 

In her own bedroom the woman was struggling 
with the Spanish captain. Her brown hair hung in 
wild disorder about a white distorted face, her 
dress was rent, she writhed in the brave man’s arms. 
Raoul sprang across the room, seeking his chance for 
a thrust that would not kill her. The Spaniard saw 
him and howled an oath, then hurled the woman 
full upon him. Raoul staggered back, and the 
Spaniard sprang upon him like a dog. They all 
crashed down together, and the Spaniard’s dagger 
was driven deep into Raoul between shoulder-point 
and neck. The Spaniard was quickly on his feet 
again, but the woman was stunned, and Raoul lay in 
his blood. A moment the Spaniard looked at the 
two and laughed, then he kicked Raoul out of the 
room and down the stair, and watched him fall a 
273 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


huddled lifeless mass on the threshold. Then he 
turned back to the woman. 

* * * * * 

Thus far Raoul. The muse of Gaspar Wiederman, 
camp-marshal, now becomes our guide. I shall have 
to expurgate her speech. Gaspar Wiederman begins 
something like this: 

We were toasting our pork and our toes at the fire, 

When we heard someone spitting a curse at the mire 
Blaspheming 

more than that I need not translate. In fact, Gaspar 
Wiederman, with his Roan Troop (you will find them 
in the histories), was halted a quarter-mile away, a 
little off the Bergen road. They could not see to do 
anything else, so they were eating. In the middle of 
their meal Spanish oaths came to them out of the fog, 
and some one blundered into the horse lines, and 
tripping over a heel rope fell upon Zouch the quarter- 
master, who jerked him into the fire. 

“Curse my sentries!” growled Gaspar. “Pull him 
off, you. He is putting the fire out.” 

The gentleman was hauled out by the legs, swearing 
voluminously. “Who are you? The fiend go with 
you! Who are you?” he cried in Spanish, dabbing 
at the sparks that clung all about him. 

“Ask the fiend, Don Leanshanks,” said Zouch. 

274 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


“The gentleman was asking you, quartermaster,” 
said Gaspar; and then, most politely, “We are 
Richebourg’s Walloons, from Kalloo.” 

“What? what?” The Spaniard looked about 
him. There were two score or more most efficient 
ruffians lolling about him in their cloaks. The 
firelight flickered through the fog on scarred, weather- 
beaten, bearded faces. “Richebourg’s Walloons! 
Then you are after him, too?” 

There was for a moment a most solemn silence. 
“ Of course we are after him,” Gaspar agreed. “ Have 
you caught him?” 

The Spaniard began to swear again. “We had 
him, curse him! we had him. But he jumped 
out of the window.” Somebody laughed; and some- 
body else kicked him; and there was silence again. 
“Then the little devil drove off all our horses. So 
we are all out on foot hunting them. That is how I 
fell into your camp. I suppose you have not caught 
any of our horses?” 

“No, my dear, we have not caught your horses,” 
said Gaspar. “You have lost them and you have 
lost him? So. You are having successes to-day. 
Is that all?” 

The Spaniard swore a little more. Then he 
laughed. “There is the woman, at least.” 

275 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Gaspar sat up. “Ach, there is the woman, is 
there?” he growled. 

‘‘Yes. We took him in a farm, and Strada is burn- 
ing the farmer, and she is the farmer’s wife. Madre 
Dios l but she is pretty and plump — as yet!” he 
laughed. 

Gaspar also laughed. As no one else did, he kicked 
Zouch. Zouch laughed with enthusiasm. In the 
midst of it Gaspar whistled four notes. The lolling 
troop started up in an instant. The fire was being 
stamped out, the horses untethered, before Zouch had 
finished laughing. Gaspar heaved himself up, a 
mass of a man. 

“Where are you going?” the Spaniard cried. 

“I have to talk with your Captain Strada.” 

The Spaniard nodded. “Why, by the saints! 
but you are a godsend to us. You are mounted. 
You can help us home.” 

“Ay,” growled Gaspar. “We will help you home, 
my dear.” 

By that they were all mounted. A horse was found 
for the Spaniard — the Roan Troop, known to history 
as the finest thieves in the Provinces, had always spare 
horses — and off they went through the fog. The Span- 
iard rode with Gaspar and showed the way. The 
troop was in column with four abreast, but each man 
276 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


rode so far from his neighbor that they covered a 
great space. More than one of the scattered horses 
blundered in upon them, were caught neatly, 
swiftly, and led on. More than once scared voices 
cried out of the unseen: “Who is it? what are 
you?” And the Roan Troop answered in Spanish, 
“Friend! friend!” and swept on, shrouded in the 
darkening fog. 

The farm steading loomed a vague shape before 
them, and they checked, and by twos crowded together 
came through the gate. Gaspar held up his hand, 
a word went down the column, they halted. There 
was a noise in the orchard, shifting feet and the scrape 
of steel, then a Dutch cry: “Devils! devils!” 

Gaspar turned in his saddle, signed to a sergeant, 
and nodded to the sound. Then he swept out his 
arm in a wide gesture, and whistled five notes. The 
Roan Troop was blotted out in the fog. 

“And I will talk with your captain a little,” said 
Gaspar. 

The Spaniard and he dismounted, a trooper took 
their horses, and they went in. There at the stair- 
foot lay Raoul, bleeding and lifeless. The Spaniard 
gaped. “ San t’ Iago! Why, they caught the little 
devil after all!” he cried. 

Gaspar took him by the arm. “Ay, you have 

277 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


caught your little devil,” he growled. “Come up.” 
For a man’s laugh came from above. 

Gaspar opened the door and stalked in. The 
woman was in Strada’s arms and moaning. Gaspar 
tapped him on the shoulder. Strada turned (“the 
face of him,” says Gaspar’s ballad, “was the face of 
a ferret”). “Curse you! who are you?” 

“lama man,” growled Gaspar. “ What are you ? ” 
“What?” Strada’s eyes reddened. He let the 
woman go, and she fell on her knees by her bed. 
“What?” 

“That,” said Gaspar, and knocked him down. 

The other Spaniard, his cheated guide, sprang 
upon Gaspar with oath and dagger. Gaspar hurled 
him crashing through the window. Strada started 
up and felt for his dagger. But his dagger was in 
Raoul’s shoulder. He darted across the room to 
his sword, but before he came there he was in Gaspar’s 
arms. Gaspar waddled out of the room with him, 
and he writhed and bit “like the ferret God meant him 
for.” Gaspar had him safely pinioned. The long legs 
struck madly at the air, his back was across Gaspar’s 
knee, Gaspar dropped his weight down. 

I caught the ferret or he was ’ware, 

And I broke his back at the turn o’ the stair, 

For he was 


278 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


what it would give you no pleasure to read. So 
Gaspar writes. 

Strada dropped, a limp distorted form on the stairs. 
Gaspar had helped him home. 

Gaspar came back to the woman. He laid his 
great hand gently on her quivering shoulder. “You 
are safe now, lass,” said he in her own tongue. She 
shrank away from his hand, and her eyes were terrible. 
“You are safe now, lass,” he said again. 

“Safe?” She muttered the word, and gave a long 
sobbing cry, and fell forward on the bed weeping at 
last. But it was only a moment before she started up 
and faced him. “You did not save him!” she cried. 
“Ah! bring me to him; let me see him. . . . O 

Karl! Karl! • . . and I am alive!” She turned 

from Gaspar’s eyes, trembling, and moaning. 

“ God help you!” Gaspar muttered, and went out. 
He kicked Strada out of his way and went downstairs. 
As he came to the bottom he heard Raoul groan. 
“God in heaven! Our little man is alive yet,” he 
muttered, and bent over him and moved him very 
gently. Then “Morgan!” he roared — “Morgan!” 
and a shout answered from the fog. He strode out 
into the doorway, and there were a couple of his troop- 
ers with a man on foot between them. “Humph! 
what have you caught, Bouvier?” 

279 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“A gentleman that did not wish to be burnt, sir. 
Also we have killed five gentlemen that wished to 
burn him.” 

“ What ? what ? ” Gaspar roared. “ Is your name 
Karl?” 

“I am Karl Vloten, and ” 

“So! So! God is in heaven!” cried Gaspar, and 
caught his hand and wrung it. Which must certainly 
have been very painful for Karl Vloten. 

At that moment Morgan galloped up, a little grizzled 
Welshman. “Ach, Morgan! Our little man is 
there wounded. Care for him as if he were all your 
daughters, or I will make your face look backwards,” 
cried Gaspar. “And you,” he dragged Karl Vloten 
in, “come back to your own.” 

They ran up the stairs together, and Gaspar flung 
wide the door. Then he came across the room at a 
bound, for the woman had Strada’s sword in her hands, 
and was trying to put the point of it to her breast. 
Gaspar snatched the blade in his bare hands. Her 
husband came, crying “Lisbeth! Lisbeth!” and 
flung his arms about her. 

“Karl! ... my Karl! ... my Karl!” 
Her voice was as low as a sob. 

Gaspar shut the door softly. With Strada’s sword 
under his arm he looked down at the dead Strada. 

280 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


“Sometimes I believe very much in God, my friend,” 
said he. He flung the body out in the farmyard, and 
snapped the sword and dropped the fragments upon 
the breast. 

That evening the Roan Troop were busy. They 
had drawn a cordon about the farm, and as Strada’s 
men came straggling back by twos and threes, mounted 
or on foot, the men of the Roan Troop drew aside into 
the fog and let them in. But they were not let out 
again. While the fog blackened in the twilight there 
was hunting inside the cordon, and the end of the hunt 
was death. 

But there could be no safe tarrying there. Before 
dawn Raoul was sent off in a horse litter, and Karl and 
Lisbeth, too, and the Roan Troop fell back on their 
main body, Colonel Newstead’s company at Loe- 
vorden. They enjoyed that march much. For old 
Mondragon had sent two more squadrons from Zwol 
to look for Strada, and they came in touch with the 
rearguard of the Roan Troop. The Roan Troop lured 
them delicately on, till they were five miles off Loe- 
vorden. Then Newstead swept down upon them 
and hurled them into the sea. 

Altogether it was a neat little foray, and well de- 
served a ballad. 

Thus Gaspar Wiederman. Raoul, naturally, is 
281 


A GENTLEMAN OE FORTUNE 


shorter: “But God would not suffer me so to die. 
Gaspar Wiederman, the famous camp-marshal of 
Colonel Newstead, had been by him despatched to 
watch for me. The Herr Gaspar most cuhningly 
found me in time. I salute him. With skill of the 
best he dealt with the Spaniards. But I knew 
little of that till I woke in a bed at Loevorden. I 
was but a wreck of the trim soldier who had done the 

deed at Kalloo. I was ” But we must abridge 

Raoul. 

He was, in fact, in bed, and rather weak, and 
Newstead and Gaspar were sitting beside him. He 
told how he had fired the magazines at Kalloo, and 
given Parma three months’ work to do again, and 
ended breathless. 

“So Antwerp can save itself,” said Newstead. 

“If Antwerp has sense,” grunted Gaspar. 

Raoul turned to him. “The woman and he — 
at the farm — did you save them?” Gaspar nodded. 
“She — she was ” 

“I came in time,” said Gaspar gravely. “They 
are safe here in Loevorden.” 

Raoul drew a long breath and raised himself on 
his arm. “Colonel Newstead — I claim the bounty 
of the Estates of Holland — for the farmer and his 
wife. I was upon the service of the Estates. I was 
282 


RAOUL’S HOSTS 


fleeing for my life. They offered me refuge. The 
Spaniards came. It was death and torture not to 
give me up. They chose that — death, a Spanish 
death — rather than betray me. It was the noblest 
deed — I have ever known.” 

Gaspar and Newstead looked at each other. “ Ach, 
my friend, but they have told us all,” said Gaspar. 

“I tell you on my oath ” 

“It is not worth while,” said Newstead, smiling. 
“They have said they brought the Spaniards to your 
bedroom. Cordieu> I do not blame them — but they 
did it, Raoul.” 

Raoul lay on his pillow, breathing heavily. “Did 
they tell you — did they tell you I — came back — into 
the Spaniards’ hands — to try to save them?” 

“They told us,” said Newstead. 

“And do you think if — if they had given me up, 
I — should have risked myself for them ? ” 

Newstead smiled. “I think you would,” said he. 

“And I wonder if I should?” grunted Gaspar. 
Raoul lay still, tired out and angry. They left him 
soon, and as they were going, “Take heart, little 
man,” said Gaspar, chuckling. “We can lie, too.” 

So some days after, Gaspar stalked into the room 
again. Raoul was sitting in a chair by the fire. 
“Well, little man, you are a good liar, and I am a 
19 283 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


good liar, and, by the Kings of Cologne, I think New- 
stead is the best of the three. So the Estates have 
granted your farmer and his wife lands in the salt 
meadows of Alkmaar. Also the good folks are 
voted the thanks of Holland for their fidelity to the 
cause. ,, He chuckled. “Their peculiar fideHty ! ,? 

Raoul’s sunken eyes flamed. “Would you have 
been more faithful?” he cried. 

“ Devil a bit!” said Gaspar. “Well, they are clean 
little people. Here,” he turned to the door and 
shouted, — “come in with you!” 

Lisbeth and Karl came in — the man to blush and 
look sheepish, the woman to fall on her knees and kiss 
Raoul’s hand. Raoul tried to raise her. Gaspar 
did it for him. Then Raoul must needs reel to his 
feet and bow (in his bedgown) before her. 

“That was most poetic,” says Gaspar, regarding 
the bedgown. So Raoul closed the account with his 
hosts. 

The sad part of this story is that those magazines 
in Kalloo were burnt to no purpose. Antwerp had 
its respite of months. But Antwerp had no sense. 
The foolish town did nothing to make itself safe. 
So Parma drew his lines about it, and the siege began. 
And then Raoul was inside. What he did there you 
shall hear. 


284 


CHAPTER XI 


raoul’s name 

T HERE was trouble in Antwerp. Each man 
called his brother a fool. 

On the night before, Gianibelli the Man- 
tuan had promised that his fireships should blast a 
hole in Parma’s bridge across the Scheldt. Then 
Admiral Jacobzoon was to drive Parma into the river, 
all the bridge would be smashed, and the fleets of 
Zeeland would bring relief to the leaguered town. 

Gianibelli’s fireships had done their work nobly. 
Never were such fireships. They had duly rent a 
great gap in the bridge, they had sent a thousand of 
Parma’s soldiers to heaven or hell. But that was all. 
And now in the daylight Antwerp saw Parma’s men 
working like beavers to repair the wreck, and knew 
that in a few hours the Scheldt would be barred once 
more and relief as far away as ever. 

So all Antwerp was out on the quays talking about it 
and settling twenty times a minute whose fault it was. 
The Admiral ‘‘Runaway Jacob,” Sainte Aldegonde, 
the hymnbook- making burgomaster, Hohenlo, gen- 
285 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


eral and wine-barrel — all these and a dozen more were 
blamed for it. Antwerp had found intense satis- 
faction in picking out new men to blame for the siege 
ever since the siege began. To be just, there were 
many that deserved blame — no fewer than every 
man in Antwerp save one. 

That one was Raoul. He had risked his life and 
near lost it to cripple Parma and give Antwerp time. 
And Antwerp had failed to break the dykes that would 
have made a siege impossible, failed to ammunition 
itself, failed even to victual itself. Antwerp was a 
fool. Raoul sneered at it and cursed it — and fought 
for it still. 

Raoul was in the crowd on the quays, wandering 
hither and thither, listening. The babble was instruc- 
tive, if not edifying. There was no word of the com- 
mon cause, of the future: all spoke of the past and 
their private losses and other folks’ roguery. No man 
had a good word to say of any man. Raoul, his nose 
high, sniffing disdainfully, remarked to himself that 
Antwerp town was a den of apes. Some fool climbed 
upon a bollard and began to accuse burgomaster, 
general and the rest of taking bribes to betray the town. 
Toward him surged the crowd. Raoul jerked him- 
self out of the rush and came to the quay edge. A 
few yards away, close by the speech-making fool, 
286 


RAOUL’S NAME 


stood a slip of a girl in black. But she, too, cared 
nothing for the speaker. Her back was turned to 
him, she looked down into the swift-running tide. 
Still the crowd was pressing to the fool’s speech: the 
mass was jammed tight about him; the girl was thrust 
to the verge of the quay. But she made no effort to 
move. She looked over her shoulder once, and Raoul 
saw a calm, white face, then she gazed down again at 
the tide. The crowd swayed. Without a cry, with- 
out an effort to save herself, she fell. 

But Raoul had seen. When her face rose out of the 
water he was swimming towards her. His hand 
gripped at her hair as she sank a second time. In a 
moment she felt stone beneath her feet; all breath- 
less she was borne up the quay steps. At the top 
he set her down : “ Stand back, fools, stand back, ” 
and he was buffeting his way through the crowd. He 
came back with a hat on his dripping head. She was 
wrapped in his dry coat and lifted to her feet. “ Where 
is your home?” 

“In the street of St. Michael.” 

Raoul broke a way through the crowd and hurried 
her on. He did not speak again, and she had no breath. 
It was a little house to which they came, and she 
opened the door with a key. Then she looked at 
Raoul, but he signed her in and followed. Into a 
287 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


bare room they came, and she began to struggle out 
of his coat. 

She stood before him, and the black dress clinging 
close betrayed the lithe grace of her maidenhood. 
Black hair all disordered hung in glossy curls about 
her neck. Her bosom was quick, her face lightly 
flushed. Raoul regarded her gravely. 

Her dark eyes fell. “ I — I — I ought to thank you, ” 
she stammered. 

“You would thank me, lady, by receiving me to- 
morrow, ” said Raoul. She bowed. “I must ask 
your promise,” he said. 

Her black eyes, wide and frightened, looked for an 
instant into his. Then her face flamed. “I — oh, 
indeed I promise!” she gasped. 

Raoul took her hand, held it a moment, and went 
out. He ran gayly home. Antwerp was to be inter- 
esting after all. 

In all his best (he pathetically records that it was 
no better than crimson woolsey) he came again to the 
street of St. Michael. The girl herself opened the 
door. Raoul came in, making fantastical courtly 
bows. “You save me asking for one whose name 
I do not know.” 

“I have no servant. I am called Margaret van 
der Wyn.” 


288 


RAOUL ’ S NAME 


“And I Raoul — de Tout le Monde, if you ask a 
surname, for my father’s I never knew. In the ser- 
vice of the Estates of Holland, and wholly at yours. ” 
He made another magnificent bow. 

But the splendor of it escaped Mistress Van der 
Wyn, who coldly bade him sit. 

Raoul sat and put off some of his airs. 

“Mistress Van der Wyn, I asked you to promise 
to receive me because I wished to be sure that you 
would be alive to-day.” 

Her cheeks were crimson. “You — you have no 
right,” she stammered. “I — I ” 

“When one wishes to live one does not fall into the 
Scheldt at flood without a struggle, without a cry.” 

After a moment, while he heard her breath, glow- 
ing defiant eyes met his. “And if I did!” she cried. 
“If I did!” 

“If you did seek death, it was because you are in 
trouble. So since you are in trouble, mademoiselle, 
I am here.” 

“I have not asked your help,” said the girl proudly. 

Raoul looked at her long. “I think you would 
never ask help of any man. ” 

“At least, sir, I ask none of you.” 

“It is I who ask you to accept it.” 

“You have no right!” 

289 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul leant towards her. “ Will you stand by that, 
mademoiselle? Have I not earned the right to help 
you?” The girl’s lips trembled, and her eyes were 
dull above pallid cheeks. Raoul laid his hand on 
her knee. “Mademoiselle, I have periled my life 
half a hundred times. Believe me, it is always worth 
while to live.” 

“I — lam afraid,” said the girl, and began to cry. 
“ Oh, indeed, indeed I did not try to do it — but it was 
so easy. I am cowardly. I am all alone.” Pride 
was gone now. She sat sobbing, and RaouPs steady 
warm hand held hers. After a while she told her 
story. 

Her father had been a goldsmith in Brussels. There 
a Dominican monk of the Inquisition, one Father 
Diego, had spied upon them, and for fear of the tor- 
ture and the stake (they were Protestants), she and 
her father had fled the town. They came to Antwerp 
purposing to cross to England. But in Antwerp her 
father had fallen ill of a phthisis, and for his comfort 
they had bought that tiny house in the street of St. 
Michael. When Parma threatened the siege, their 
servants had fled, and all alone the girl had nursed 
him till his death. It was months since he had died, 
and ever since the girl had had nothing to live for, no 
hope of happiness but to join him. But indeed, in- 
290 


EAOUL’S NAME 


deed she had never sought death. Only when it 
came 

Raoul heard her to the end and said nothing. You 
would not expect Raoul to understand how life could 
have no savor, still less the wish to die because some 
one else was dead. But he did not make a fool of 
himself. “He has gone where he is happy,” said 
Raoul at last. “And you have your life to live. 
Mordieu , would he not wish you to live it bravely?” 

“Yes . . . you are right ... I will try. 

You see I am not very brave. I am all alone. And 
there is nothing to do. ” 

“And I am all alone, too. So we will neither be 
alone any more. I am your brother Raoul and 
you are my little sister Margot. Will you adopt me, 
sister ? ” 

Her pale face darkened. She looked long in his 
eyes. “I should like.” 

“And by the good God I will be true brother as 
long as you will,” said Raoul slowly. “Faith, my 
shirts and my stockings cry out for a sister. Will 
you be good to them, Margot?” 

For the first time he saw her smile. “ Oh, yes. But 
you are so quick.” 

Margot made him a perfect sister. Day by day 
Raoul came to her and abused the townfolk and 


291 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


jeered at his leaders. Day by day Margot was sure 
that the townfolk were horrible and his leaders ridic- 
ulous. Raoul recounted what he would do if he 
were burgomaster, and Margot listened as she listened 
in church. But once he jeered at that church of hers 
and then the cream of her cheeks glowed red and her 
black eyes flashed, and Raoul heard some truths of 
himself that no one had told him before. 

Raoul was no bad brother. He did as much of 
the harder work in her house as she would let him. 
He brought her such dainties as the leaguered town 
would furnish. He talked his best for her. He even 
read in the worn Bible that she gave him. He met 
her anger without a sneer, and was not too lordly 
when afterwards she prayed his pardon. 

And he never sought to be more than a brother. 
But with each passing day he strained harder at the 
curb. For in his thoughts Margot had grown to be no 
sister of his. Raoul had come by a way women go 
more often than men. He began with no more than a 
friend’s kindliness and the wish to help her: then 
love came, and last of all the hot passion of desire. 
Present or absent he saw her always. Little red lips 
in a face of cream, black eyes that glowed, a boy’s 
lithe form graced with womanhood — his Margot. 
Body and soul yearned for her. But he hid it well. 

292 


RAOUL’S NAME 


That leaguered town was no place for marriage or 
love. He must have her in safety before he asked for 
that. The Spaniards threatened every hour, and there 
was only he to care for her honor, her life. If he 
showed his passion while she was still in peril he asked 
a price for guarding her. He had no mind to bargain 
for love. Not till she was safe, not till he had noth- 
ing to give her but himself, would he ask her to give 
herself to him. 

Nine years had made Raoul a very different man 
from the little cut-throat who served Taddeo of Brescia. 

So the siege dragged on, and Raoul and Margot 
were brother and sister. One showery May after- 
noon Raoul bade her good-bye. 

“But you will come again?” she cried. 

“I mean to come again. You’ll not doubt that, 
Margot?” 

“No, no indeed.” 

“But I go to sup with Parma.” And he told her 
how that night he was going to spy out Parma’s forts 
on the Kowenstyn, and what force was in them. “ So 
it may be — good-bye.” 

She caught his hands. “You must not. You 
must not, Raoul. Why should it be you?” 

“I would have no one else go but me,” said Raoul. 

So he went, and came back unscathed. Then in a 
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day or two he hurried in, cuirassed and armed, to tell 
her that that night they were to sally out and attack 
the Kowenstyn, “and break the siege, mordieu , and 
save the town and little Margot.” 

Of that night battle on the Kowenstyn the histories 
will tell you: how they drove the Spaniards off the 
dyke, and Hehenlo and Sainte Aldegonde came glori- 
ously back to tell the town that Parma was defeated 
and the siege done; how the Spaniards rallied and 
won the dyke again, and, just as Antwerp was ringing 
joy-bells for its deliverance, wounded and dying men 
came reeling back to tell that all was lost. 

Margot sat at her window watching bonfires blaze 
in the daylight, hearing the roar of triumphant cannon, 
the clang of joyous bells, and watching anxiously. 
Raoul came up the street all foul with mud. She 
gave a little glad cry and ran to the door. Raoul 
lurched up to her. His helmet was beaten down over 
his eyes, his cheek was dark with stiffening blood. 

“Beaten! beaten!” he said hoarsely. Then his 
head lolled to one side and he fell forward on her 
breast. 

After that the first thing he remembers is that he 
was lying in a bed, quite painless, and wanting much 
to sleep. But for days he had been in no case to 
know anything. . . . One thinks of the girl all 

294 


RAOUL’S NAME 


alone by his bedside while he raved, while he lay in 
stupor, the girl who tended him day and night, racked 
with fear lest he too should die and leave her again 
with none to love. . . . She saved him. . . . 
After sleep came a great hunger, and he quarreled 
with Margot because she would not give him all he 
asked. One morning he woke, and saw at last that 
she was very pale and thin and red-eyed. Why did 
she look like that ? Had he been long in bed ? How 
many days ? 

Indeed Margot did not know. But it was many 
days. 

Raoul raised himself on his elbow. “Many days? 
Then Parma — mordieu , does the town still hold 
out?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Margot. “Please lie down,” and 
she laid him gently back on his pillow. 

“Then can you get food easily?” Oh, yes, there 
was food. “Do you lack money, Margot? Sainte 

Aldegonde owes me ” No, Margot had money 

enough. And would Raoul take his dinner ? 

For some days he ate and slept marvelously. He 
began to walk again, and very quickly he gathered 
strength. More than once he proposed to go out, but 
Margot begged him not, and he yielded. He was 
very careful of Margot, and now it was her turn to 
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sleep long hours, and life came back to her face and 
her eyes. At last, one warm summer day he pro- 
tested that out he must, to see Sainte Aldegonde. 

Margot sat looking at him a moment, and flushed 
before she spoke. “ Raoul, Sainte Aldegonde is 
gone. I lied. The town surrendered while you 
were sick. There was no fight. They gave up the 
town to Parma. I — I could not tell you while you 
were ill. Please forgive me. ” 

Raoul frowned and bit his fingers. “The devil !” 
he muttered, and walked away to the window. Even 
of Antwerp — that den of apes — he had hardly thought 
that it would let Parma walk in peaceably. “There 
was no fight!” And twice he had near died to save 
this cursed, cowardly town! He devised oaths for 
Antwerp. Yet if Parma had stormed his way in — 
if the town had been sacked while he lay ill — then, 
Margot . . . 

Margot’s hands were on his arm. “ Oh, Raoul, of 
course you are angry with me. But I could not tell 
you while you were so weak. I know you wanted to 
save the town more than anything in the world 
and ” 

Raoul started round, his eyes gleaming, and caught 
her in his arms. “Margot!” he cried; then suddenly 
let her go. “ Little sister, you are worth a thousand 
296 


RAOUL’S NAME 


Antwerps, and you are safe. But now if the Span- 
iards are in I must get you out.” 

“Ah, Raoul, but not yet. You are weak. You 
must not risk yourself.” 

Raoul laughed. “Not I, Margot. I want to live 
while you are alive.” 

So Raoul went out and took the air on the quays 
and in the taverns. He had the gift of tongues, and 
he was Spaniard to a Spaniard, Italian to an Italian, 
Walloon to a Walloon. He acquired much informa- 
tion. 

When he came back that night, “ Margot, have you 
changed your religion?” he asked. Margot drew 
herself up, and the curl of her lip answered. “I 
thought not. But Parma gave all heretics a week to 
quit the town. And that week is long past. You 
might have gone but for me, Margot.” He looked 
at her, but she would not meet his eyes nor speak. 

That night Raoul tried sword play. His wrist 
was slower far than of old, and his arm tired soon, but 
there was pith in it. Still he could drive his dagger 
half blade deep into oak. Ay, it might serve against 
one man of no skill at arms. But the old, conquering 
speed of thrust was gone — gone, too, the stubborn, 
untiring strength. All his body was weary after a 
dozen thrusts and a lounging walk through the town. 
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He was in no case to guard Margot through a country 
swarming with Spaniards and Walloons. They 
must wait. And yet for a Protestant maid to wait in a 
Spanish town was the devil’s own hazard. 

The long summer days passed. There were more 
monks in the town than Raoul wished, but none 
molested Margot. RaouPs vigor was coming back. 
He was the best of friends with the Spanish garrison. 
He had learnt that Richebourg was dead and his regi- 
ment in Brussels, so he became one of Richebourg’s 
Walloons left behind to heal his wounds, the scars 
whereof he produced for a testimony. 

Fortune favored him at last. An English ship 
came into Antwerp, and Raoul met the captain. 
RaouPs English was sadly to seek, and the captain’s 
Flemish horrible, but they struck a bargain for a 
passage to Poole. Raoul had no money to pay, but 
he did not confide that to the captain. 

He told Margot the good news, and Margot laughed 
and cried, and thanked him and God. “ But, Margot, 
have you ever ten florins in the world?” 

Margot’s eyes grew round. “Yes, indeed, and 
much more. I do not know how much. Come!” 
She took him down to the cellar, and there by the 
candle-light Raoul saw an oaken coffer clamped with 
iron. Within were piles of dull gold coin. 

298 


RAOUL’S NAME 


“ Diantre , Margot! But this is the wealth of the 
Indies. ” 

“I suppose it is much,” said Margot simply. 
“Father was thought rich in Brussels.” 

Raoul tried the weight. It was as much as he could 
carry easily. He had no mind to be seen walking the 
streets with a coffer that was small yet needed all 
his strength. In the still hours before dawn he stalked 
out of the house with it, and came through the lonely 
streets to the quay. It took some time to get a gang- 
way run ashore from the Peggy 0’ Poole. It took more 
time for the captain to be roused. Then the coffer 
was sealed in his cabin and put under his bunk. Then 
(to the mortification of Raoul’s flesh) there were mugs 
of English beer to be drunk and English jokes to be 
heard. And at last the gold was left to the captain. 
Something had to be risked. Raoul did not think 
he risked much in trusting this wide person with a 
round face and twinkling eyes. 

The sun was bright and the town busy as he came 
back. But the street of St. Michael was more than 
busy. Every window had gaping faces, every door. 
Raoul, his pulses quivering, hurried on. The door of 
Margot’s house was open; there were soldiers in the 
hall. 

A harsh voice spoke from Margot’s room: “You 
20 299 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


are Margaret van der Wyn, who fled from Brussels 
with her father?” 

“I am Margaret van der Wyn.” 

There stood Margot amid four black-garbed, black- 
veiled men, while a Dominican monk glowered down 
at her. Raoul in one swift glance saw their case — 
famuli of the Inquisition four, halberdiers half a score. 
There was no hope — no merest chance. 

The Dominican spoke again: “Where is your 
father?” 

“I thank God he is dead.” 

“Then you thank God he is damned.” The Dom- 
inican took the Bible from her bedside. “This is 
yours?” 

“It is mine.” 

“Enough. Bring her away.” He turned and 
Margot saw Raoul. She trembled and gasped, and 
caught at her heart. Raoul moved no whit. The 
Dominican came up to him: “What have you to do 
here, sirrah?” 

“By the leave of your reverence, I lodge here.” 

“You know this woman?” 

Raoul looked full in Margots face and shrugged 
his shoulders. “No more than I know an inn- 
keeper. ” 

“Who are you?” 


3 °° 


« 


EAOUL’S NAME 


“Hans Zeraerts of Richebourg’s Walloons, on fur- 
lough for my wounds.” 

The Dominican glared through him. “Then, 
sirrah, it ill becomes you to lodge with heretics. ” 

Raoul started and crossed himself. “Heretics! St. 
Denis preserve me! Is she that? Accursed!” He 
made the sign of the evil eye and shrank away. 

The Dominican turned from him and signed to the 
familiars. The procession formed. The halberdiers 
tramped out to the stones. Between the black robes 
Margot came. She looked at Raoul, and he saw the 
shame and agony in her wide eyes. He fell on his 
knees before the monk : “ Your blessing, my father, ” 

he murmured. 

I think that is the greatest thing in Raoul’s life. 
Every fibre in the man must have yearned to be by 
Margot’s side. He had but an instant for thought. 
One word, one look unguarded, would have betrayed 
him. He felt her anguish at his vile answers. But 
he played his part swiftly, unflinching. 

Mighty noble it would have been to fling himself on 
the monk and slay and slay and die fighting for her. 
Mighty noble, too, to declare himself of her faith and 
go forth with her to the prison. So, when she 
shrieked on the rack and in the flames, she would 
jkoow for her comfort that Raoul was true. Now 
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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


she thought him a vile coward — might well think him 
so to the end. But he was free with his wits and his 
strength, and at worst a shot out of the crowd, a 
clean-thrown dagger (Raoul had seen the thing done) 
might save her the last agony at the stake. He was 
ready to let her loathe him if he could serve her. 
That seems to be one kind of love. 

You sneer? These, you think, are farsought ex- 
cuses for a cowardly villainy. He had the girl’s 
money, of course: he wanted no more of her: the little 
rogue thought only of saving his skin. Why then, if 
you call him a coward, read on to the end. 

Raoul was left alone with his thoughts and the 
memory of Margot’s eyes. He knew well enough 
what awaited her — all men knew in those days — the 
dark dungeon, with a monk to weary her out with 
questions; then, on some day after the sun had set, 
the torture by rack and strappado to make her deny 
her God. And what could he do ? He sat huddled 
together, biting his fingers. Despair he did not. No 
man ever lived who believed in himself more than 
Raoul. 

At last he went out in the air. Head thrown back, 
eyes to the heavens, hand in his belt, he wandered 
along the quays. There lay the Peggy o' Poole , that 
should have carried them to safety. Half a day more 
302 


RAOUL’S NAME 


and they would have been aboard and sailing away to 
happiness. He cursed the grim mockery of fate. 
But there was no use in that. His present need was to 
get that gold back ashore. In a moment he saw the 
wide captain rolling along ahead, and hurried to him. 
But the captain spoke first. The Peggy o' Poole was 
shipping more cargo; she would not sail that day. 
Raoul’s hands clenched. He stared at the captain 
stupidly a moment, then nodded and passed on. The 
gold could wait a while. 

For here was another trick of fate. Trick? Why 
should his ship be stayed? Was God showing the 
way? 

Raoul went to a tavern by the prison of the Inquisi- 
tion, and there ate his breakfast. He sat long by the 
window watching monks come and go. After a 
while he went out and bought a razor. 

It was just after sunset when the Dominican monk 
came out of the prison. As he crossed the street he 
felt a hand on his arm. “ Father, a word in your ear, ” 
said Raoul. 

The monk turned and looked down at him in the 
twilight. “You? What do you want with me ? ” 

“A word in your ear,” said Raoul mysteriously, 
and drew him on by the sleeve. “Father, I have 
found something in the heretic’s house.” 

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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


‘‘Ah! what is it?” 

“Father,” — Raoul appeared anxious and excited — 
“it was well hidden. In the cellar: a great box: books 
in it.” 

“What are they?” 

“ Why, father, I am no great scholar, you must know. 
I think — I do not know — I think they are books of the 
arch-fiend Luther.” Raoul spat at the name. 

“Touch them not, my son. I will sendmyfamil- 
iars. 

He was turning away, but Raoul held him. “Ah, 
father, but that is not all. There are certain moneys 
and jewels in the box. I take you to witness, father, I 
have come hastily to tell you of them, knowing well 
that they do wholly belong to the Holy Inquisition.” 

“You have done well, my son. I will come see this 
— your books. There is matter in this. We hold in- 
quiry of the heretic to-night.” 

“Accursed,” said Raoul, and spat. 

They came to the house, and Raoul unlocked the 
door. A light was struck, a candle lit, and they 
passed down the steep stairs and into the cellar. Raoul 
held the candle aloft in his left hand. “ There in the 
corner, my father.” The monk turned his head, and, 
as his neck showed white, Raoul stabbed at it once and 
stabbed true 


304 


RAOUL’S NAME 


The monk was dead with scarce one groan, and in 
a moment Raoul had off his gown and his sandals 
and was gone upstairs. He shaved his face — for the 
tonsure there was no time — slipped off stockings and 
shoes, bound on the sandals, wrapped himself in the 
gown and drew the cowl well over his head. Then — 
this is extremely like him — he stopped to put his 
stockings and shoes in the wide monk’s pocket. 

So the loungers in the street of St. Michael saw the 
Dominican come out again, and knelt for his blessing. 
He gave it. Raoul went at his leisure. He was 
practising the Dominican’s gait. His lips moved, 
and wayfarers thought the holy man was muttering 
prayers. The holy man was making phrases in the 
Dominican’s style, and training his mouth to the 
Dominican’s harsh, nasal voice. 

It was dark when he came to the prison again. He 
knocked as he had seen the monks knock, and the 
door was opened. Raoul passed in without a word. 
His gait conveyed that he was deep in meditation. 
He passed by the jamulus , and then stopped suddenly 
as if a new thought had struck him. “ I will see her, ” 
he muttered as if to himself; and then, more loudly: 
“the new-comer, Margaret van der Wyn.” 

“Again, Father Diego?” 

“Ay, again. Let us spare no zeal,” said Raoul. 
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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Down a narrow winding stair and along a narrow 
passage all dark he was led by lantern light to Margot’s 
cell. 

Margot was kneeling by the stone bench. She 
heard the grinding bolts and turned, raising her head. 
“You!” she cried in a pitiful voice. “Again you! 

Ah, if you have any heart at all ” 

Raoul turned, took the lantern, and signed to the 
famulus to shut them in alone. The heavy door 
clanged again. Then Raoul came to her. “ Margot, ” 
he said, and put his hand over her mouth. “Little 
sister Margot.” He crushed her cry back; he held 
her as she started up. “Silent! silent! Take the 
lantern : look at me. ” He threw back his cowl. 

The lantern trembled as she held it close to his 

shaven face. “Raoul, Ra ” Her voice was 

stopped by his hand again. 

“Did you think I had played you false, Margot? 
Not I, mordieu. Listen now. I take off this gown. 
You put it on. I tap at the door. That villain with- 
out opens it. I kill him and bring him in and put on 
his gown. Together we go out of this hell. When 

we come to the door above you say ” 

But the bolts grated, the door opened again. Raoul 
flung his cowl over his head and started round. There 
were three or four of the black-robed famuli without. 

306 


RAOUL’S NAME 


Raoul’s hand was within his gown on the dagger-hilt. 
But there was no use in that. One, two he might kill 
— but the others would give the alarm. He had the 
wit to do nothing. 

“Father Diego, the Holy Court requires your pres- 
ence. ” 

“Lead on,” said Raoul. 

Two of them brought him to the end of the passage 
into a vaulted room, and left him. Lighted candles 
stood on the table, a brazier of charcoal glowed red. 
Vile things in iron hung on the wall, and there was a 
bed of black, greasy oak with wheels and levers — the 
rack. Raoul began to know fear. What was it that 
dead monk had said ? “We hold inquiry of the here- 
tic to-night.” In a moment they would be torturing 
her — Margot — Margot. He bit his fingers till they 
bled. His breath came noisily. What to do? God! 
what to do? Then he muttered blasphemies. God 
would let him do nothing. All that he ventured went 
awry in the very moment of success. Twice he had 
near had her safe; he needed no kindness of fate, no 
more than justice, an even chance; twice she had been 
snatched from him to doom; fate mocked at him with 
crafty spite. God wished to see the maid tortured. 
Why, then curse God. 

A black figure came in by another door; beady 
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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


eyes looked through slots in the black hood of it. 
It dropped fresh charcoal on the brazier and greased 
the rollers of the rack. “All is ready, father,” it 
said. 

“Away!” Raoul gasped, and bit his teeth on an 
oath. “ We shall not need you for an hour. ” 

It was hardly spoken before another door opened 
behind him, a narrow door that gave upon a staircase. 
One Dominican monk came in, and another, and the 
second shut the door. They spoke a Latin greeting to 
Raoul, and Raoul murmured what was presumed to be 
a Latin answer. But his heart had leapt when the 
door was shut, and his brain was crying, “ Only two ! ” 
They knelt down and one began a Latin prayer. And 
Raoul knelt with them and prayed, but the words of 
his prayer were different: “Two! Only two. Oh, 
my God, be good to me now!” 

The Dominicans rose from their knees and sat at 
the table. Lean, yellow faces were outlined in the 
candlelight. Raoul stood a little behind them. 
“And of this new soul, my brother,” said one in 
Spanish, turning to him. 

“You have wrought with her. Has it availed?” 

What was he to answer? “Yes” might leave her 
in her cell : “ No ” would bring her to the torture. But 
they were two. They were only two! Raoul staked 
308 


EAOUL’S NAME 


his all on a last throw. “Alas, no!” he groaned in his 
cowl. 

“To the question, then,” said one with gusto, and 
struck once on a bell. 

It was the door by which Raoul had entered that 
opened. Without, Raoul saw two famuli . One 
came forward. “Your will?” 

“Bring Margaret van der Wyn.” 

In a moment or two the girl was brought in. The 
two famuli stood her over against the table and went 
out. She stood alone, all trembling. The two Dom- 
inicans leant forward together, peering keen-eyed. 
But Margot looked beyond them to the dark figure 
in the shadow. Her lips were parted a little, her 
black eyes wide but not afraid. Raoul laid his finger 
on his lip. 

“You are Margaret van der Wyn?” a shrill voice 
rent the silence. 

But Margot, looking at Raoul’s finger, said nothing. 

A tone higher it came: “You are Margaret van 
der Wyn?” 

Still Margot said nothing. Raoul took one pace to 
the right. 

The Dominicans looked at each other, and on each 
cruel face came a smile. One put out his hand to the 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Now for the last chance! — now! That hand was 
gripped in Raoul’s left. Swifter than stooping hawk 
he struck, and struck again. Clean and straight 
through the spine, where the neck begins, the monks 
were stabbed. One started up, and Raoul had a hand 
on his mouth. The other fell gently forward on the 
table as if he slept. Both were dead without a sound. 

But Margot gave a cry and hid her face in her hands. 
Raoul was at her side in a bound. “Silent! If you 
love me, silent!” he hissed. Silent himself, and swift, 
he took two levers from the rack and lightly pushed 
their wedge-ends under two of the doors. A moment 
more and one dead monk was stripped of his gown. 
Raoul wrapped Margot in its ample folds. She 
shuddered, and withstood him: “I can’t — I can’t!” 

“For my life you must.” He drew the cowl over 
her head, took her arm, and led her on. She shrank 
from the monks, but Raoul leant across her and 
wrenched the keys from a dead hand. Out to the 
narrow stairway they came, and Raoul locked the 
door behind them silently. Up and up and up they 
stumbled, till the stair ended at another door. Raoul 
listened, and could hear nothing. He tried key after 
key, and had the door opened at last. All was dark 
still, but a heavy scent clung about them. They 
were in the chapel, beside the altar. Through the 
310 


RAOUL’S NAME 


stale incense reek they stumbled, seeking another door. 
These were several, and Raoul listened a while at 
each. Through one came the noise of the street. 

One instant more, and that hell was left behind. 
The clear cool, night air gave them greeting. 

“Swift, now, swift! But walk. Do not speak,” 
Raoul muttered; and they hurried on to the quay. 
The streets were not empty yet, and more than one 
looked curiously at the two hurrying monks. But 
none stayed them. Soon they came to the dark, 
murmuring river, the shadowy forest of mast and 
rigging, the black hull of the Peggy o' Poole. 

“Cap’n, cap’n, here be two black monks boarding 
o’ we!” 

The wide captain rolled forward, muttering un- 
kind things of monkery. “Into your cabin,” said 
Raoul in a hurry. “One word with you alone.” 

“Foul words be all you’ll get,” said the captain in 
English. But he led the way. 

Once in the cabin, “I am no monk,” said Raoul, 
and flung off his gown. There he stood in his doublet 
and trunk hose, bare-legged from the knee. 

The captain took up the lantern and held it aloft. 
“God bless Billy Adams!” he growled: then, in his 
jargon of English- Flemish, “ why, if you ben’t my 
passenger with your face shorn!” 

3 “ 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“I am; and,” Raoul flung back the cowl from Mar- 
got’s disordered curls and took off the gown, “this is 
your other passenger.” 

Captain Billy Adams sat down on his bunk with a 
bang. “ And what be you both a-doing in they traps ? ” 
he asked. Then had to translate it. 

“We were caught by the Inquisition. They would 
have tortured us. I killed the devils, and we escaped 
in their clothes. If they catch *us again — and they 
may catch us — we die under the torture. It is death 

to us if you do not sail to-night. I will pay ” 

“Catch you aboard my ship?” roared the captain. 
“Catch you be damned! Be they after you?” 
“They may be on the quay now, and they can 

bring all the garrison down on you, and ” 

Captain Billy Adams pushed him out of the way 
and went out on deck roaring. Raoul followed, and 
Margot. Men came tumbling up out of the forecastle, 
bulky, bare-armed, bare-footed men, who ran hither 
and thither. Captain Billy Adams was up on the 
poop. Blocks creaked and boats splashed down into 
the water. “All clear for’ard.” “Give way in the 
long-boat.” The sloop’s bow fell off from the quay. 
“Cast off aft. Give way all.” Slowly they drew 
out to mid-stream. The moon was rising, and the 
oars churned up glistening, silvery foam. 

312 


EAOUL’S NAME 


Raoul drew Margot very close and looked into the 
depths of her dark eyes. “After all, dear heart, after 
all,” he murmured. 

Margot caught both his hands and pressed them. 
She did not speak. 

But from the quay came shouts and the sound of 
running men. They were hailing the Peggy o' Poole 
in Flemish and Spanish. Captain Billy Adams looked 
at them curiously, but he answered not at all. Still 
shouting, they ran down the quay steps and manned 
a boat. 

“Go to the cabin, dear — go in.” Raoul hurried 
her out of the reach of shot. As he shut the door he 
heard the captain shout: “Way enough! Way 
enough! Come alongside starboard all. Man the 
foresail halyards.” Then something in a low growl 
that set two men scurrying below. 

The shore-boat was coming near, and its crew 
yelled many things. “What do ’e say?” cried the 
captain in English. “I be main deaf, I be.” Then 
to the starboard quarter, “Lively with that tackle!” 
The shore-boat came alongside to port, and hailed in 
Flemish, “Englishman, you have heretics on board!” 

“God bless Billy Adams!” He rolled to the 
bulwarks. “Have I, now? Come you under my 
quarter, Papishers,” he cried in his jargon. 

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A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


“What does he say?” was asked in the boat, and 
some one explained, and they scraped aft. 

“ Come you under my quarter, and I’ll throw you 
something to help you aboard.” 

Raoul ran to him in a frenzy. “Man, this is death 
and worse than death ” 

Captain Billy Adams buffeted him out of the way. 
Four men were tottering aft with masses of stone 
ballast. The captain leant over the side. “Be you 
ready, Papishers?” he howled. And they answered 
Ay. “Heave over, boys!” 

Together the great stone blocks came crashing 
down into the crowded boat, and in a moment its 
crew were whelmed in the tide. There was a roar of 
hoarse laughter from the English sailors : but Captain 
Billy Adams ran forward again, shouting, “Be you 
all aboard, Peret Martain?” 

“All aboard, cap’n.” 

“Foresail haul! Ready jib! Starboard a bit. 
. . . Steady!” 

The Peggy o’ Poole slipped fast through the water. 
Then Raoul came to. the captain and began to be 
voluble in thanks. “Now, bless your eyes,” said 
Captain Billy Adams, “did you think as I would 
leave a lass to they spawn ? Tell her she is to bide in 
my cabin.” 


314 


RAOUL’S NAME 


Margot sprang to Raoul as he opened the door, and 
he held her: “ All’s safe, all’s safe. We have left them 
all behind. We are sailing to England. ” She clung 
to him a moment, then turning, knelt. Raoul looked 
at her a moment — knelt by her side. Neither spoke 
at all. 

* * * * * 

The sun was high in heaven, and the white cliffs 
of England lay on the starboard quarter. Raoul 
sat with Margot on the poop, but she had hardly a 
word for him, and when she met his eyes she blushed. 
The Peggy o' Poole ran on before a brisk easterly 
breeze, and Captain Billy Adams rolled up to grin and 
tell Raoul that sweethearts had hold of the tow-rope. 
Even after nightfall the good wind held, and the brown 
sails were stiff in the starlight. 

Margot sat on a coil of rope in the shelter of the poop 
and Raoul stood beside. Again he had tried to make 
her talk, and failed. “ Margot,” — his hand lay on 
her shoulder, — “what troubles you?” 

Margot looked up swiftly, and as swiftly turned 
away. Raoul sat down on the rope with her. “ Mar- 
got,” he said gently, and took her hand. 

She drew it away. “I must tell,” she murmured, 
half to herself. “Yes. I must tell you. . . . 

21 3 I 5 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


Raoul, I did not believe in you . . . when — when 

— oh, you know. ... I thought you meant to 
leave me and just keep yourself all safe. . . . I — 

I thought that. ... I did not trust you, Raoul. 
Do you understand ? I did not trust you. ” 

“But you trust me now, Margot?” 

“Now? Yes, now! Now you have done every- 
thing. But then I did not. I — I can you see 

how base it was ? I thought you were a coward, and 
— and — oh, vile things. You, Raoul!” 

“ Oh, Margot, does it matter ? Do I care ? What 
else could you think? I had to play the knave well 
to cheat that devil. And if I cheated you, too, who 
could help it? Not you, nor I. Margot, why will 
you cry ?” He put his arm about her and drew her to 
him, and tried to soothe her. “ Nay, Margot, Margot, 
little sister ” 

Margot forced herself out of his arm. “No,” she 
shook her head fiercely. “No . . . Raoul . . . 
don’t you understand?” She held him away from 
her with one little hand. The other clasped at her 
own heart. 

Raoul looked wondering. Under her maiden coif 
moved the night wind, and her hair’s black waves 
were alive. The moonlight fell about her, and her 
face, her little round throat were purely white; tears 
3x6 


RAOUL’S NAME 


glistened about her eyes, her lips trembled and her 
bosom. 

She snatched Raoul’s hand. Her pulse throbbed 
to his. “Raoul — Raoul! — is it just — sister?” 

And then Raoul crushed her lithe body against him. 
“ No, thank God, no ! ” he cried. “ Not like a brother, 
Margot!” and hot lips claimed hers. 

* * * * * 

“ Dear heart o’ mine, I’ve not a name to give you. 

Raoul de Tout le Monde I call myself Raoul 

of All the World, because I want all the best that is in 
it; and faith,” Margot was kissed, “that I have. 
But ” 

“ But indeed you are not All the World’s Raoul any 
more. ” 

“Nay, subject of one — who is the only Margot in 
All the World — and mine. Mine! . . . Ay, mine, 
and so — I have it — and so I will now be called Raoul 
de Bonne Fortune.” 

“ Then I shall be Margot of Good Fortune. Indeed 
lam ... ” 

A shout from forward, an answer from the poop, 
and in a moment the sails flapped as the helm went 
over. The Peggy o' Poole ran on into a still wide 
lake of gleaming silver girt by black land. Gruff 
orders came from the poop, and forward and aft the 
317 


A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE 


watch were bustling. Halyards creaked and the tall 
sails vanished. Swiftly the sloop lost way. “ Let go ! ” 
and forward the anchor splashed down. 

“All clear, cap’n.” 

“Give her five-and-twenty fathom.” 

Captain Billy Adams rolled down from the poop. 
“ We be come to Poole Haven, little mistress.” Then 
he saw Raoul’s arms about her. “Eh, eh, and you 
be come to haven, too, seemly,” and he went off 
chuckling. 

Margot looked up into RaouPs eyes. “Yes, in- 
deed,” she said very quietly. 

That night the last thing Raoul heard was the drone 
of the anchor watch: “A clear sky and a calm sea 
and all’s well.” 

Here, you think, one might end. But Raoul 
would like you to read a great deal more. His “His- 
tory of Myself” tells elaborately how Captain Billy 
Adams was given a great reward, how Margot and 
Raoul went ashore and found all Poole on the quay 
to gape at “Cap’n Billy’s furriners,” how Raoul 
amazed the good parson of Poole by demanding 
marriage in much-broken English, how Margot and 
Raoul spelt out the English service before-hand, to be 
quite sure what marriage in England meant, how 
they were married before a great throng in Poole 


RAOUL’S NAME 


Church, how Captain Billy Adams caused the bells to 
ring and sent three fiddles and a drum to their window 
on the morrow morning. Raoul is, in fact, not reticent. 

Later he gives the full tally of their wealth — Margot’s 
heritage, and the hard- won, blood- won moneys Raoul 
had out at usance with the Fuggers and the traders of 
Amsterdam; he describes the noble manor they bought 
at Yealm, in Devonshire, and what great folk they 
were, and how in a while there came from Queen 
Margot of Navarre a string of black pearls, and lastly 
and at length he tells of the sons and daughters that 
were born to them. Of which last I think Raoul was 
prouder than of any other achievement. 

But he was a notable little man. 


(i) 


THE END. 


3 I 9 







✓ 


9 









By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS. 


The Second Generation. 

Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ The Second Generation ” is a double-decked romance 
in one volume, telling the two love-stories of a young 
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proving their ruination and disinherited them for their own 
sakes. Their struggle for life, love and happiness makes a 
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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK 


THE LEADING NOVEL OF TODAY. 


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By Robert W. Chambers. Illustrated by A. B, 
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The rich have their longings, their ideals, their regrets, 
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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



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